


Eternity in an Hour

by Jazoriah



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: A lot of 'sort of' death, Amnesia, Angst, Bound Magic, Canon, F/M, Humour, Identity Issues, Loyalty, M/M, Memory Loss, Murder, Reincarnation, Romance, Soul Magic, many lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazoriah/pseuds/Jazoriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur remembers. Merlin does not.</p>
<p>This is a story of centuries of rebirth, and the people who always endure. It is the story of how Merlin forgot who he was, and found Arthur again anyway. It is a story of truth, identity and family. It is a story of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome lovelies. This is my take on a canon reincarnation story. I choose to ignore the implications in the finale that Arthur still wasn't back by our time. Because they were only implications. And this is more fun.
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoy.
> 
> Title shamelessly stolen from William Blake's _The Auguries of Innocence_.

Arthur sat curled on the cement, slowly rubbing circles into his temples.

_God, why did this have to happen?_

He should have known better than to think they could catch a break. He had thought – he had _prayed_ – that just this once, everything could be different.

But the world never truly lets go of its favourite chess pieces, and although he had not worn a crown in centuries, he would always be a king.

He curled a hand through his hair, tugging against his scalp in frustration.

A soft whimper drew his attention to a shadow curled on the floor. Arthur’s eyes snapped to the prone figure, his breath hitching.

“Merlin?”

The shadow shifted, and a scruffy head of raven hair twisted into view.

“Arthur?” whispered the fallen man, blinking in the too-bright light.

“I’m here Merlin. God, you’re awake. Finally,” Arthur’s words came too fast, his concern and relief obliterating his usually impeccable speech. He stretched himself towards his friend, but a harsh rattle reminded him of the cuffs cutting deeply into his arms, keeping him at the other end of the room.

Merlin blinked, rising slowly from his position on the floor. He stared owlishly around the room, taking in the dirty grey walls, the bare concrete floor. His gaze finally rested on Arthur, and he pitched forward, only to be brought up short by an identical set of cuffs holding him back.

“What’s going on?” he said, his voice rising in pitch as confusion started giving way to panic. “Arthur?”

“Merlin, it’s okay,” said Arthur, straining forward. “I promise you, it’s going to be … Look at me!” he cut himself off as Merlin’s eyes jittered over the room in distress. The man’s gaze snapped back to him. “Whatever happens, I’m going to protect you. You’ll be okay, you understand?”

Merlin stared at him, taking deep breaths and desperately scrabbling for his bearings.

“But, Arthur?” he said, shaking his head a little to clear it. “What happened?”

Arthur sighed. “Morgana happened.”

 

* * *

  

There really was a kind of artistry in making the perfect coffee. Not that Merlin himself was any good at it, but he’d gorged himself on enough caffeinated drinks in his time to adopt an air of expertise on the subject. At least, he spent a lot of time criticising the charlatanistic attempts of the local cafés in his little corner of London. These days, there were only two coffee shops he deemed worthy of his patronage, and his favourite, The Lady Cappuccino, had become somewhat of a camping ground during his first two years at university. In fact, most days he could be found tucked into a corner, sequestered in a fortress of books and nursing a mug that could probably fit over his head if it weren’t for his prominent ears.

It was a day like any other, with a soft murmur blanketing The Lady Cappuccino in cosy conversation, when Merlin’s perfectly constructed study nook was upended by a high-heeled harpy on a mobile.

“Well, I don’t see how that – Woah!”

Merlin shoved his chair back just as five and a half feet of agitated female ploughed into his table.

“Hey!” he shouted, grabbing the table as it swayed in place. A tower of books tottered near the edge, and he slammed a hand down on it before it could fall on top of the prone woman.

“Dammit!” swore the lady, grabbing the edge of the table to hoist herself up. She glared over the pile of fallen papers and books, searching for her dropped phone. Merlin stared at her, a little worried that if he drew her attention she might turn her ire on him and cause him to combust. With a short _ha!_ of angry triumph she snatched up the phone, slamming it back over her ear.

“Don’t worry, I’m… for fuck’s sake Arthur, are you _still talking_?” she bit out, exasperation dripping from every syllable. Merlin coughed, leaning over to gather his abused papers. The lady’s eyes flashed toward him, and he stilled.

“Never mind, we’ll talk about it later,” she snapped into the phone. “Yes we can, it’s not that urgent. You’re just being a panicky little schoolgirl, now shut up.”

And she disconnected the phone with a decisive jab.

Merlin raised an eyebrow at her as she turned to him, dusting herself off.

“My apologies,” she said, in a clipped tone. Merlin tried not to snicker at her painstakingly upright manner.

“It’s okay,” he said, grabbing a few papers from the floor.

The lady pursed her lips. “Hardly,” she sniped, bending to pick up the books at her feet. “It seems like you’ve got half the lost library of Alexandria here.”

Merlin shrugged. “I’m thorough.”

“I’ll say,” she said, stacking a few more books on the table. “I know paralegals who would faint at the idea of this much research.”

Merlin looked at the wobbling stacks on his table and the carpet of scribbled notes, and couldn’t help but smirk a little.

“Go hard or go home,” he said, quirking an eyebrow.

The woman looked at him in surprise, before a grin stole its way across her features.

“Well said,” she chuckled. “Nothing’s worth doing half-way.”

“I guess that explains the heels then,” said Merlin, grimacing as he took in her eight-inch stilettos.

The lady’s face contorted in anguish as she looked down at her shoes. So far she’d been precariously balancing on one foot to avoid the snapped heel on her right.  
“And they were so beautiful too,” she lamented, hopping into a seat so she could un-cinch her foot. “That’s why I tripped into you, I’m afraid. Stupid things could have held out a little longer.”

“Maybe if you bought you shoes for walking instead of skewering rogue hobbits it wouldn’t happen,” quipped Merlin, earning a glare.

“If a woman can’t strap weaponised shoes to her feet and make everyone in the near vicinity feel inadequate, then what’s the point in life?”

Merlin cocked his head to the side.

“You’re a little scary, you know that?”

The lady gave him her first genuine smile.

“Absolutely.”

She held out a hand.

“Morgana Prescott. It’s lovely to meet you.”

 

* * *

 

Merlin blinked at Arthur from across the room.

“Morgana? What did Morgana do?”

Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss for what to say.

“She… she met someone bad…” he said, his throat dry. “Something happened… but it wasn’t supposed to! I kept her safe. I did! She was never supposed to remember… but she knows… God, everything that happened…”

“Arthur, you’re not making sense,” Merlin interrupted. “What did she remember? Who did she meet?”

Arthur closed his eyes in anguish.

 

* * *

 

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Morgana, disdainfully. “You actually like Frankenstein over Dracula?”

“I’m a literature major, I’m obliged to go with the provincial text!” said Merlin, rolling his eyes. “Besides, do you even realise how illogical Dracula is? For god’s sake, Van Helsing, you know the bitch is a vampire! Stake her already! But no, let’s let her eat a few more kids so her husband can come home and get his ‘closure’.” Merlin threw his hands up at the end. “’Cause, you know, that’s not likely to cause problems _at all_.”

“What about the foreshadowing all through Frankenstein? ‘Oh! I learned so much and the world is so beautiful! _But we’re all gonna die!_ I love my family so much! Look at the pretty mountains! _But life is a whirlpool of despair!_ ’ Blah blah blah, inevitable damnation. Good thing we weren’t trying to sustain tension here.”

“ _That_ is making a point about the dangers of scientific endeavour without conscience and the inevitability of – oh, screw that. At least Shelley knew how to pace a narrative. After five chapters of the Hardy Boys searching for Dracula while everyone with two brain cells knows he’s eating their lady friend I just wanted to throw the book out a window.”

Morgana sneered her _I-am-right-and-you-are-a-philistine_ sneer and Merlin folded his arms in challenge. Both were gearing up to prove the other utterly deficient when an obnoxiously chirpy beep sounded from Morgana’s pocket.

“Oh, bugger,” she said, clawing it out of her pants. “This isn’t over!” she said pointing a perfectly manicured nail at Merlin. He smirked in response.

“Morgana Prescott,” said Morgana, decidedly less impassioned on the phone. “Oh, right. I forgot we were going to meet, sorry… No, I’m in town anyway, I came to see a friend… No, none of the ones you know, and you need to stop calling them she-devils… _Because_ if they hear you they may actually try to chop off your bollocks… Are you kidding? I’ll hand them the knife… Oh, stop acting tough, we both know you’re terrified… Look, I’m at The Lady Cappuccino, how about you meet me here and we can head off together… No, he won’t mind. He’s a literature major with no life. You’ll be the second person he’s talked to all month. See you soo – _ah_!” Morgana promptly ended the call as a shower of sugar packets hit her in the face.

“You know,” said Merlin icily, “I do actually have a life outside of you, and most of my other friends aren’t heartless banshees with terrible taste in literature.”

Morgana delicately brushed the last of the packets off her skirt. “I’m sure you do.” She leant forward with a look of innocence. “Are they in the room with us now?”

Merlin sat back in the seat, looking petulant. “Perhaps they’re the real ones and you’re the hallucination. It would explain how you can drink triple-shot espressos without vibrating through the seat.”

Morgana smirked. “Science does seem to tremble at the scale of my sheer force of amazing.”

Merlin shook his head, snickering.

“So,” he said, changing the subject, “judging by the combination of affection and brutal disdain, that was Arthur?”

Morgana smiled. “We were supposed to meet for dinner today. I completely forgot.”

“I have that effect on the ladies.”

“So he’s going to meet us here,” she continued, talking over him. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure,” shrugged Merlin. “About time I met your infamous younger brother. Though apparently he’s heard nothing about me. Why, not Morgie, dear? Are you ashamed of our torrid affair?”

“Not ashamed, just greedily keeping you to myself,” she grinned, and her eyes softened. “Arthur’s very protective. He always has been. And he always presses me to be honest with him about my feelings. I know it’s because he cares, but it’s a bit too intense. Sometimes I need to step back.”

Merlin nodded. “That’s family, I guess.”

Morgana shook her head with a wry grin. “The best kind.”

The soft swish of the door alerted them to a new arrival, and Morgana signalled to the man over Merlin’s shoulder.

“Over here.”

Merlin cricked his neck, preparing to meet the notorious brother.

“Bloody hell, Morgana, would it kill you to keep a diary or something?” the voice was deep, and pleasantly smooth.

“I do, for the important things, like work and manicures. You don’t count.”

“Charming,” said Arthur, pulling up a seat. “So this is your friend?” He turned to look at Merlin and froze, his cheeks instantly paling.

“Yes,” said Morgana, not noticing her brother’s behaviour. “This is Merlin. I promise he’s not as destitute as his unwashed appearance might suggest.”

Arthur huffed a harsh laugh, quickly getting his breathing back under control.

Merlin stared at him.

“Are you okay?”

Morgana glanced at her brother, finally noticing his shaken appearance.

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, then gave a smile that was very clearly forced.

“I’m fine. Of course. Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” said Morgana, shirking her ice-lady persona for a moment.

Arthur gave a slightly hysterical giggle and glanced between Merlin and Morgana, shaking his head.

“It’s nothing, Morgana. No need to worry,” he ran his fingers through his hair, and in a moment was once again the composed, charming young man that Merlin had expected.

“Dreadfully sorry, my friend,” he said with a surprisingly attractive half-smile.  “I should be careful not to frighten off anyone brave enough to be friends with my _dear_ sister.”

Merlin looked to Morgana, who frowned, but gestured for him to continue anyway. He turned his gaze towards the handsome newcomer and dismissed his worries.

“If she hasn’t sent me packing yet I doubt you could scare me off,” he said, in his usual Merlin tone: one part mischief, two parts challenge.

A grin slowly stole its way across Arthur’s face. “I’m glad. Maybe she’ll hold onto you yet.”

Merlin smiled, and told himself he had imagined the watery sheen in Arthur’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

 “It was someone from a long time ago,” said Arthur, dragging his hand through his hair. “A woman I thought was gone for good.”

Merlin cocked his head to the side. “Who? Tell me.”

“Morgana’s sister, Morgause.”

“You two have another sister?”

“Not me, just her.”

“But… I thought you were full-blooded siblings.”

“We are, this time.”

“What does that mean?”

Arthur looked at him with eyes full of despair and pity. “I was hoping you’d never have to find out.”

 

* * *

 

“God, Arthur. Could you look much more uncomfortable right now?”

Arthur glanced at his dark-haired companion and purposefully stilled his fidgeting fingers.

“Sorry, Merlin. It’s just… she really should be here by now.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “It’s a dinner reservation, not a doctor’s appointment. She probably lost track of the time.”

“I know, I know,” sighed Arthur, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just worry about her.”

“I’ve noticed,” said Merlin turning away. “Can’t help that you’re stuck here with me either,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Arthur,” said Merlin. “Look, let’s just go in. She can meet us inside.”

Arthur looked at Merlin for a moment, and nodded. Merlin pulled open the door.

“She’s not about to run into trouble, Arthur,” he said, when he noticed his companion looking over his shoulder. “I’m surprised you even think she’s that vulnerable. I reckon that girl could lead an army if she wanted.”

Arthur’s shoulder caught the side of the door as he passed through and he took a moment to gather his bearings, turning back to face his companion.

“I know she could,” said Arthur, his voice deep and weary. Merlin stared for a moment, sure he was missing something important, but Arthur merely gave him a sad smile and led the way to their table.

It was one of the many instances with Arthur that left Merlin feeling out of the loop. Sometimes it seemed that Arthur was trying to tell him something, with his cryptic half-responses and soft looks, but for the life of him Merlin could not figure out what, and he was getting exhausted trying to find the double meaning, just out of reach.

Merlin pursed his lips, damping down his irritation as he took a seat across from the confusing blonde.

“So,” Merlin began, clearing his throat. “I read that book you gave me.”

“Oh?” Arthur looked at him intently. “And?”

“And I seriously do _not_ get your obsession with Arthurian legend.”

Arthur frowned. “It’s not an obsession.”

“That’s, like, the fourth Arthurian story you’ve made me read.”

Arthur shrugged, looking frustrated. “I thought you might like them!”

“I liked it the first time I read the story, but there’s only so many times you can see the same rehashed characters and relationships without getting tired of them. Especially since, no matter what happens along the way, it always ends with that god-awful fiasco at Camlann. And I haven’t seen a single version that does that ending justice anyway.”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that we spend the whole story watching everyone protect Arthur and Camelot and getting really invested, and then at the last second he’s killed off, and the big consolation is that he’d done what he’d set out to do in the first place. It’s like he’s become irrelevant, because it’s only the mission that matters, and he was just a tool – one that’s now broken.”

Arthur swallowed, radiating tension. Merlin ignored it, and carried on.

“But the thing is, there’s always another mission. Always something new to fight for. But people are what push us to the front lines in the first place, who give us the will to fight. And King Arthur was just that for a lot of people. So in every telling of that story, I sit there, wishing that they focus on the man rather than the king. And I’m always disappointed.”

Arthur coughed. “You’ve thought about this a lot.”

Merlin shrugged. “With my name, that damn legend is inescapable.”

“And you’ve never – ” began Arthur, his voice catching, “… it’s never made you think… about the people… about whether they might be more than just stories…”

Merlin frowned. “Every legend has to come from somewhere. I figure Arthur was probably a warlord with a few colourful friends.”

Arthur huffed an angry laugh. “A warlord… God, there’s really _nothing_ … how am I supposed to do this?”

Merlin watched him and shook his head in irritated confusion. He leaned forward, trying to catch Arthur’s eye. “Arthur? You’re doing that thing again where you babble like a crazy person.”

Arthur’s eyes flicked back to him, and he physically forced himself to relax.

“I do not babble like a crazy person,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster. Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Of course you do, and you’re perfectly aware of it too.”

Arthur glared at him. “I deal with a lot of stress…”

“Around me.”

Arthur started. “What?”

“It’s only around me. I asked Morgana. You don’t go off on your weird babble-tangents with anyone else,” Merlin raised his eyebrows, trying to keep his voice both kind and firm. “In fact, she says you’re almost scarily composed when it comes to the hard stuff. Rough work days, illnesses, even mourning people you’ve lost. You don’t crack. Is it true that you once pulled a kid out of a car wreck?”

Arthur, rigid in his seat, jerked his head in affirmative, and Merlin blew air through his lips in admiration.

“See, I don’t think you realise how impressive that is. When the really crazy shit happens, you’re the one that everyone can rely on to hold yourself together. That’s incredible.”

“Where is this going?” asked Arthur, his tone clipped.

Merlin rubbed his neck, very uncomfortable.

“Sorry, it’s just… there’s always something that’s a bit too much, even for someone like you. And my point is,” Merlin bit his lip, and then blurted out, “I’m sorry I look like him.”

Arthur blinked, completely at a loss. “What?”

“The person that you lost,” Merlin’s words were coming fast. “I’m sorry I make you think of them… because there’s obviously a lot of pain there and…”  
“What makes you think I lost someone?” asked Arthur, his mouth slightly open.

Merlin looked at him sadly. “Your… phase-outs… started when you met me. And it wasn’t anything I said. You went white as a sheet the moment you saw me. And sometimes you look at me and you seem properly happy for a second, and then I say something and it’s like you crash back down to Earth and you want to cry.”

Arthur’s mouth still had not closed. He looked completely at a loss for words.

“Whatever happened there, I’m really sorry,” said Merlin, trying to let his sincerity shine through. “He must have been very special.”

Arthur said nothing, simply closing his eyes. Merlin could see his hand clenching the table, knuckles bone-white.

“But,” continued Merlin, and Arthur’s eyes met his again. “I’m not going to go away. I like Morgana, she’s more fun than anyone I’ve met in ages. I’m not going to remove myself just because I make you uncomfortable.”

Arthur bit out a harsh laugh. “No, I don’t expect you would.”

Merlin smiled at him softly. Arthur sighed, delicately rubbing the corner of his eye.

The two sat in silence, sipping glasses of water as they waited for Morgana. Around them, a hundred distant stories played out in murmured conversation and loaded expressions.

“He was the bravest man I ever knew,” said Arthur, his voice soft, and regretful. “And when it was my turn to protect him, I failed.”

Merlin stared at him, swallowing tightly. He took a deep breath, and reached a hand across to rest on Arthur’s tensed fist.

Arthur, biting the inside of his cheek, let him.

 

* * *

 

“What does that even mean, Arthur? Is Morgana okay?”

Arthur closed his eyes. “She’ll be fine, I’m sure of that. She just…” He looked at Merlin with mournful eyes. “She’s not the woman you knew anymore.”

Merlin groaned in frustration. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Can you just be clear for once? Who brought us here? Why did they do it? And I swear to God, if you give some wistful, poetic half-answer I will brain you against that wall!”

Arthur tensed, taking in Merlin’s flushed cheeks and pursed lips. A little fondness crept into his features, despite the stress practically bleeding from him.

“We’ve been brought here by a very powerful woman with a grudge against me and my friends,” he said, his voice deadened. “By the sounds of it, she’s got a scheme for world domination or some such rot. But she can’t make it work on her own, so she used Morgana to get to us.”

Merlin scrunched up his face in confusion. “So what, she thinks you can help her? What are you supposed to do?”

Arthur smiled a little pityingly. “No, I’m pretty sure she just took me to use as leverage. The one she wanted was you.”

 

* * *

 

The first time Merlin woke up after his death in Camelot he thought that the world had turned inside out.

His limbs were too small and flailed out of his control. He could barely see, though the brightness of the world still seemed overwhelming, and his thoughts were always disjointed, rushing away from him in a roiling, hazy fog that he simply could not cut through.

Such was the feeling of being reborn, though it would be several years before Merlin truly understood what had happened. He had been gifted a new body, a child’s body, and while his soul had flown into the new vessel with a vigour he had not felt in years, memories clinging on like vines to a fallen oak, it was still confined to the brain and mind of a newborn, fresh and unshaped.

So it was that Merlin grew and changed as all young children do, slowly relearning his identity as his mind shifted and settled to accommodate it. He wondered often why he had been brought back, if there was perhaps some new war he had to worry about, but with no great dragon or once-and-future prat to order him about, he allowed himself some time to relax with his newly-bestowed family. And if his soft-spoken, raven-haired mother ever noticed her boy staring into the distance, deep in thought, or saying something no one should expect to hear from a child, she simply dismissed it as one of those things that made the boy so special.

She was not Hunith, but Merlin loved her very much.

Many people would ask over the years how she had chosen his name, and she would laugh and say she had looked at her boy and the name had simply seemed right, almost like an angel had whispered in her ear. She was a bold woman, for no one had been brave enough to use that name since the death of Camelot’s great sorcerer, an old man with an illustrious legend.

When she told Merlin of her strange compulsion at age ten, he simply smiled.

 

* * *

 

“ _Me?_ ” squeaked Merlin in incredulity. “Why the hell would she want me?”

“It’s a really long story,” said Arthur.

Merlin glared. “Then give me the goddamn cliffnotes.”

Arthur drew in a long breath. He looked at Merlin, trying to work out how to begin.

“Okay, the first thing you have to understand, and I know this is going to sound _beyond_ crazy, is that magic is real.”

Merlin levelled an entirely unimpressed stare at him.

“What?”

 

* * *

 

In the fifteenth year of his first reincarnation, Merlin set out to travel the world.

He wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find – no wars had called him into their ranks, and he had no idea if anyone else from his old life had been reborn with him – but staying idle had never been something he could stomach, and after countless years of ‘destiny’ and ‘for the love of Camelot’, he found he could not function without a sense of purpose. So, the young-again warlock bade farewell to his family and comfortable life in search of the reason he had returned.

His search was long and mostly unsatisfying. He supported himself by offering his magical services, long since legalised under Gwen’s rule, to those he deemed worthy on his travels. He cured illnesses, blessed crops and helped keep order in some of the more dangerous parts of the kingdom. But the years trickled by, and while he made many great friends and helped hundreds of people in need, he never felt truly necessary. He could see no real reason he had been called back from Avalon.

Then, at age forty-three, he found Arthur.

Their reunion was nothing dramatic. Merlin was visiting a tavern with a farmer friend from the mountains when he caught a glimpse of sun-bleached hair across the room. Unable to help himself, he swung around to look at the blonde, jaw tensed, and when the man turned and met his eye, Merlin saw comprehension and a familiar sense of duty in his eyes. His king remembered everything.

Merlin stood, walking slowly towards his old friend, and Arthur met him half way. Neither made a sound, staring at each other, as though trying to convey with their eyes the thousands of things they never had the chance to say. Then all the breath left Merlin, and he dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s hips and pressing his face into the folds of his shirt. Arthur threaded his hands through Merlin’s hair, tight and possessive, and the two silently held each other in the crowded pub, matching lines of tears sliding down their cheeks.

After that, Merlin stopped travelling on his own. Arthur was well known in his mountain village and managed to find a place for him very quickly. Merlin often wondered how Arthur could happily stay in one place, tinkering in his blacksmith’s forge, when he himself had been so discontent with his new life. He asked why Arthur never went looking for his destiny, for whatever had brought him back. Arthur evaded his answers for a long time, saying he had earned this peaceful time, that no war was brewing and no call had come for him. Merlin eventually backed off, slowly adjusting to the idea that perhaps there was no great purpose, perhaps this life was not a mission but a reward. It was an alien concept to him, but in time he learned to appreciate life for what it was, rather than what some higher power meant it to be.

Of course, that _would_ be when Arthur finally decided to be honest with him.

One day, after Merlin had finished tilling the fields with the other men, Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and led him away to the edge of the forest. The two of them mounted a pair of horses and wended their way through the trees until a dismal-looking stone building came into view. Merlin cocked his head to the side askance, but Arthur simply spurred his horse ahead with a murmured, “You’ll see.”

At the door a stern looking matron greeted them with a nod. Arthur spoke to her in a low voice, Merlin trying not to let his skin crawl as he took in the damp walls and stark furniture. The lady led them through a dark corridor, finally coming to a heavy door with a square hole cut into the wood.

“Shall I let you in?” she asked in a brisk voice.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Arthur. The matron nodded, turning on her heal to leave them alone.

Arthur sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, then he gestured for Merlin to look through the observation hole. Brow furrowed, Merlin leaned forward, blinking in the flickering light, as a huddled form materialised in the far corner.

He gasped.

There, wrapped in a dirty white sheet and with her hands and feet bound, sat Morgana.

“She was born my cousin this time,” said Arthur, his voice tight. “She remembered, the same as us. Her parents couldn’t understand what was wrong with her. Even as an infant she was vicious, still out for vengeance.” His eyes drifted to the bent woman. “I was older; I knew what was happening. I thought maybe, since her brain was so young, I might be able to change her, give her a new life. But when she was four, she gave me this.”

Arthur pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck, exposing a puckered, white scar, curling across his throat.

“I was lucky we had a physician nearby. After that, we all tried to keep her under supervision. Her magic hadn’t manifested yet, so we thought she was mostly harmless.” Arthur closed his eyes. “After you defeated her all those years ago I grew overconfident. I should have known better.

“She had an argument with another child when she was seven. None of us even know what it was about, but by the time we found the source of the screeching, his head had been bashed against a rock and she had blood running between her fingers.” He stared through the peephole. “She’s insane.”

Merlin stared in incredulity at the fallen lady. “You didn’t kill her.”

“I couldn’t!” said Arthur. “She’s my family, my responsibility. And what good would killing her here do? Will she be reborn again? To some other family without any idea what she is? We have no idea how this new life thing works, or even why it’s happening.”

Merlin frowned. “What about her magic?”

Arthur pursed his lips. “When I had her committed here, I warned them it might manifest. Those shackles are made of cold iron. They’ll suppress any powers that might show up.”

Merlin shuddered, stepping back with a hiss. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.

“I know, Merlin. I know it’s awful, but what else could I have done? She’s a danger to everyone, everything we care for.”

Merlin took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He peered through the hole again, trying to equate the broken woman with the mighty witch he had once known.

Morgana seemed to finally sense their presence, shifting in place to gaze at the hole in her door. Her eyes locked with Merlin’s, and for one moment there was a bolt of recognition.

Then Morgana opened her mouth and bellowed all her hatred, grief and madness in one long, piercing scream.

 

* * *

 

“Magic, sorcery, whatever you want to call it. The world hides it really well these days, but it’s still there, under the surface.”

Merlin tugged at his chains, clearly itching to smack Arthur in the face.

“Christ, Arthur. Don’t bullshit me. Not now.”

Arthur sighed. “I don’t know how I can make you believe me. It doesn’t make sense. _Fuck_ , nothing in our lives ever does. Just… let me tell you the whole story, and don’t call me a liar til I’m done.”

Merlin sat back on his heals. “So you can tell me a fairy story? Screw that, if you won’t tell me what’s happening I’ll find my own damn way out.”

He pulled at the cuffs around his wrists, already feeling the skin growing raw under their hold. His eyes scanned the room, looking for any structural weaknesses, perhaps even a piece of metal to pick the lock on the door. Arthur watched him with a kind of depressed amusement.

“The cuffs aren’t going to break anytime soon,” he said, holding up his own bloody wrist to illustrate the point. Merlin swallowed, eyes narrowing in anger at the blood dripping down his companion’s arm.

“And that door’s dead-bolted from the outside,” he continued, nodding to the door.

Merlin blew out all the remaining air in his lungs. His voice became very small. “So what happens to us then?”

Arthur looked at him, frowning. “We can’t do anything until they come back.”

Merlin slumped, drawing his knees into his chest.

Arthur leaned forward, protectiveness curling in his belly. “Merlin, I swear to God, I won’t let them hurt you. You hear me?”

“Oh good,” said Merlin, his voice sounding a little hysterical. “And what exactly are you going to do?”

“I’ll take them out when they come for us,” he smiled at Merlin’s disbelieving face. “Trust me, I’ve been in way worse situations before. The thing about Morgause, and every two-bit wannabe villain like her, is they always make a mistake. They think they’ve got everything covered, but there’s always some factor they didn’t consider, some opening they forgot to cover.” Arthur gave Merlin a steely look of determination. “I’ll find it, I swear to you, and when I do, I’m going to end this. I’m going to keep you safe.”

Merlin looked into Arthur’s eyes, and for a moment, against his better judgement, he believed him.

 

* * *

 

“Arthur! Your fuck-ugly shaggin’ wagon is parked in front of my car and if you don’t move the damn thing so I can leave this hell-hole of an apartment I’m going to set it on fire and roll it into a lake!”

Arthur lifted his head from his patch of drool on the couch cushion and slowly rolled himself into a sitting position.

“Hey, don’t knock the Lady Catrina,” He mumbled. “She could flatten your car in an instant.”

Merlin threw a cushion at him, hitting him in the face, and causing his hangover to blossom into full stampeding rhinoceros mode. He groaned.

“That truck is an angry, constipated stegosaurus on wheels. Why the hell give it that name anyway?”

Arthur smirked to himself. “Reminded me of a dear old friend of my father’s.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Well, move the fucking thing or I’ll…”

“What the fuck is with all the screaming?” came a frustrated voice from upstairs. With pained, clearly unsteady steps, the rumpled form of Morgana emerged from the staircase.

“Arthur’s goddamn fossil of a truck has parked me in and I need coffee before the whole bloody world caves in,” groused Merlin.

“Arthur, move your fucking car so Merlin will stop whining like a little bitch.”

Merlin made a grunt of protest but Morgana shot him a withering look, which was somehow only enhanced by her tangled hair and bloodshot eyes.

Arthur groaned, pulling himself up from the lounge and scooping his keys off the counter.

“Fine, I need coffee too anyway.”

“Good,” said Morgana, turning back to the stairs. “Then maybe I can get some sleep without you two hellions bellowing at each other in my apartment.”

“I wasn’t bellowing!” protested Arthur, but Morgana waved him off.

“And can you take the wine bottles out to the trash on the way?”

Arthur glanced at the rather impressive hoard of glass bottles lined up on the counter, shuddering a little as his hangover greeted its mummy.

Merlin pulled a few bags from under the sink and began loading the bottles up, handing one bag to Arthur. The two of them left the apartment, dropping the bottles in the recycling with a clatter that sent nails driving into Arthur’s skull.

“We… may have overdone it last night,” said Merlin, rubbing his temples, to which Arthur huffed out a harsh laugh that left his stomach twisting in on itself.

“Come on,” he said, herding his companion to the monstrous truck in the driveway. Merlin baulked.

“But if I leave mine here I’ll be forced to come back and face Morticia in there!”

Arthur laughed, holding the door open for his friend. “You know perfectly well that by the time we come back she’ll be perfectly fucking composed and will probably have a stack of pancakes waiting. I swear she’s immune to hangovers.”

“And too damn nice for her own good,” said Merlin with a fond smile.

Arthur grinned, climbing into the driver’s seat. “That too.”

They drove the whole way in silence, and it was not until both had a latte big enough to swim in that either felt the compulsion to talk.

“The world makes sense again,” sighed Merlin, his voice sounding just a touch too pleasured to be appropriate.

“Now, now, Merlin. It’s not polite to orgasm in public.”

Merlin coloured, but grinned.

“I’ll not let you’re cultural prejudices bind me.”

Arthur chuckled, quietly taking in the atmosphere of The Lady Cappuccino.

“So,” he began. “How’s the job search going?”

Merlin groaned.

“You know, when I started a Literature degree the complete lack of employability seemed like a funny joke.”

Arthur smirked.

“Still feel like laughing?”

Merlin threw him a dirty look, taking a long drag of his coffee.

“I’ve been stuck at the same crappy retail store since graduation. You realise my pompous, stick-up-his-arse manager is actually two years younger than me?” he lamented, throwing his head back in despair.

Arthur chuckled. “Sounds awful. What have you told your parents you’re doing?”

Merlin peered at him in confusion. “Crappy retail. What did you think I’d tell them?”

Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re so proud of you for what you did at uni and half the time you seem really embarrassed about your job. I thought you might have hidden how the world took a crap on your prospects.”

Merlin shook his head.

“Nah, I hate lies. Especially the big ones.”

Arthur looked at him in interest. “Really?”

“Sure,” said Merlin, shrugging. “It’s not that I can’t. I’ve actually got quite the knack for it. But I like being honest.”

“How very moralistic of you,” said Arthur, face a little blank.

“It’s not that,” contradicted Merlin. “It’s just, I have a great connection with my family, and the people who stick around even when I’m a stark bastard often turn out to be really great friends. I think you lose a lot of that if you waste time hiding bits of yourself. Even if you do it to protect yourself or stop the people around you worrying.”

Arthur’s face had turned a little stony. “I guess it helps that there’s nothing you really need to hide.”

Merlin smiled. “I’m pretty lucky that way. No murderous grudges, no terminal illnesses, no spectacularly deviant fetishes.”

“Sounds… freeing,” said Arthur.

Merlin looked at him curiously. “You sound dubious.”

Arthur took a sip of his coffee, looking thoughtful. “I’m just not sure I could do that. Be totally open, or whatever.”

Merlin watched him, a small smile curling his mouth. “Maybe not, but if you’re ever ready to give it a go, I can take whatever you dish out.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, maybe not,” amended Merlin. “I have no idea what goes on in the deep, dark recesses of your mind. But I can promise to listen and only make fun of you when it’s particularly hilarious.”

Arthur stared at him, and chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Do,” said Merlin decisively. “I am an awesome sounding board and can make an excellent soothing tea for when you finally do decide you want to break down like a weeping man-child.”

“Hey!” said Arthur, flicking a napkin at him. Merlin laughed at him, but then his face softened into a genuine smile.

“Really, though,” he said. “If ever….”

“Yeah,” said Arthur, a fond expression settling on his features. “Maybe one day.”

The two went back to sipping their oversized coffees, Merlin pointedly ignoring the warmth pooling in his cheeks.

Arthur surreptitiously gazed at his companion, assessing him. He was about to redirect the conversation into less sappy waters when he heard his name from across the room.

“Arthur! There you are.”

Arthur looked around to the newcomer in surprise.

“Gwen! What are you doing here?”

The sweet-faced brunette picked her way between the tables, smiling.

“You haven’t been answering your email in weeks, so I gave Morgana a ring and she said you’d be here.”

“Sorry,” apologised Arthur, suddenly very tense for no reason that Merlin could discern. “I keep forgetting to check and my phone died last week.”

Gwen offered him a small smile. “I thought that must be it. You’re never out of contact long.”

“I promise I’ll meet up with you and Lance for drinks sometime, but I’m a bit busy at the moment,” said Arthur, looking like he wanted to push Gwen from the room with his eyes.

Gwen looked taken aback. “Arthur, is everything okay?” she asked. Then she finally seemed to notice Arthur wasn’t alone. “Oh, gosh, I’m interrupting,” she realised.

Merlin did his best to stifle a chuckle.

“You should go,” said Arthur, his voice strained. Gwen frowned at him, holding up her hands in surrender.

“Okay, sure. I’ll just…” she trailed off as she caught sight of Merlin’s face. Her mouth slipped open as she stared at him.

“Merlin,” she whispered.

Merlin stared at her in confusion. “Um, yes? I guess Arthur’s mentioned me?”

Gwen frowned, looking at Arthur, who had closed his eyes in defeat.

“He’s…”

“Yes,” bit out Arthur.

“But he doesn’t…”

“No,” he snapped.

Gwen turned back to Merlin, worrying her lip. “Oh, Arthur,” she said, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye.

“Please just go, Gwen,” said Arthur, sounding almost lost. Gwen looked at him pityingly.

She hoisted her bag more firmly over her shoulder. “I’ll tell Elyan and the boys to organise a get-together next week. I’ll see you there.”

It was a command, however gentle the tone, and Arthur nodded, not looking at her. She continued to watch him for one long moment, before turning to leave. As she passed Merlin, she placed one hand firmly on his shoulder.

“I’m so glad he found you,” she whispered, and then bustled out of the shop.

Merlin stared after her for a moment, before turning back to his companion, who was refusing to look at him.

“I’m guessing she also knew the boy who looked like me?”

Arthur’s mouth twisted into a pained grimace. “She met him the same day I did,” he said, his voice wistful. He bit the inside of his cheek. “I wasn’t the only one who lost him.”

“Is this why you haven’t introduced me to your other friends?”

Arthur frowned.

“It’s more complicated than that. But I imagine you’ll be meeting them all soon anyway, now that Gwen’s seen you. You’ll probably get a few more looks like that.”

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek.

“Is she going to be okay?”

Arthur sighed. “Yeah, she’ll be fine.”

Merlin peered at him.

“Are _you_ going to be okay?”

Arthur looked at him a moment, and finally smiled.

“Yes, I think so.”

Merlin had to control the slight blush creeping up his neck at Arthur’s tender look, and he couldn’t help but notice that, despite the dark subject, that particular smile had not seemed forced.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, then. If we have to wait til they come back anyway, you could try explaining all this to me without the crazy,” Merlin said, sounding dubiously hopeful.

Arthur chuckled, shaking is head. “Sorry, Merlin. The crazy’s kind of at the heart of all this.”

Merlin smacked his palm down on the ground in frustration.

“Dammit, Arthur! Can’t you just be straightforward with me?”

“I’m trying, Merlin!” yelled Arthur. He ran a hand through his hair, visibly having to calm himself.

“Look, you once said I could be totally honest with you and you’ll listen. This is why I never tried. It’s insane, I know that! But I need you to hear me out. Please, right now, I need you to keep your promise and listen.”

Merlin stared at him, disbelief and frustration written across his face.

“Fine,” he said, trying to cross his arms, only to be brought up short by the chains. “Start with the most important thing. You said they brought us here because they needed me. Why?”

Arthur looked at him sadly.

“You couldn’t have started with a simple question?”

Merlin glared at him, and he drew in a breath in preparation.

“They took you so they could bring back your magic.”

 

* * *

 

 With Morgana locked up in the asylum, Merlin knew he and Arthur were bound to their little mountain village. Whatever was going on in the great wide world, she would always be the bigger threat.

So he returned to the fields, working amiably with the other villagers and having to physically stop himself from falling back into the role of royal manservant.

Arthur, to Merlin’s eternal irritation, had proven more than adept at taking care of himself in this life. Merlin had been so ready to rub their equal status in his face, but apparently Arthur had spent his entire childhood as a poor blacksmith’s son, learning how to do all the little tasks he had once palmed off to Merlin and proving more than equal to the task. Merlin had to hold in an angry huff the first time Arthur served him a full baked dinner and it turned out to be better than anything Merlin had cooked in either lifetime. When Arthur realised what was upsetting his friend, he doubled over with raucous laughter and would not stop until Merlin whacked his backside with a skillet. The chase that ensued and the hysterical cackles echoing through the village caused many to wonder about the strange pair at the end of the lane, but the two were so well loved that nobody ever brought it up with them.

All the while, Merlin was sending out letters to all the greatest libraries and universities, searching for information on reincarnation. A few books were sent to him, and one philosopher even sent a copy of his very long dissertation on the subject, but so far it seemed all the information was purely theoretical, and shed practically no light on their situation.

It was a cold day in late Autumn when their strange stasis came to an end. Merlin was bringing Arthur a large ham from the market, but was brought up short when he heard a thump from inside Arthur’s little cottage. He looked up in alarm, hurrying to the little door.

“Arthur?” He heard a muffled grunt from inside, followed by another thump.

Now feeling truly alarmed, Merlin unbarred the door with a flash of his eyes and stormed into the room.

“Arthur, what…” he began, but stopped short when he saw Arthur flat against the opposite wall, pinned there by shackles that he knew had not been there this morning.

“Welcome back,” came a silky voice from behind his ear. Merlin whirled around, just in time to see Morgana lift a hand and fling him to the wall beside Arthur, shackles immediately snapping over his own limbs. His head cracked against the wood with a painful rap that left him woozy and unfocused.

“Merlin?” called Arthur from beside him. “Merlin, can you hear me? _Answer me, Merlin!_ ”

“Did you know,” said Morgana, her voice practically singing with delight, “that iron can only keep magic subdued for a limited time?”

Merlin blinked, trying to force his eyes to focus. He could hear Morgana’s prancing footsteps drawing closer.

“Neither did I!” she said with a high-pitched giggle. “But I imagine the nurses at the _crypt_ you sent me to will be more careful in future. Well, the ones that are left.” She grinned at the boys, an odd twinkle in her eyes, and it was clear that however cruel she had been in her first life, the insanity that gripped her now was something new and terrifying.

Merlin screwed his face shut, trying desperately to focus his magic. He gave it a colossal push, and heard a sharp crack as the bonds holding Arthur and himself in place snapped open.

Morgana gave a shriek of indignation as the two dropped to the floor, Arthur quickly gaining his bearings and stepping in front of Merlin.

“Morgana, the war is over,” said Arthur, edging towards the witch. “You have nothing left to fight for.”

Merlin was still on his hands and knees behind him, trying desperately to gather his wits.

Morgana pulled a thin dagger from her dress.

“This isn’t about the war, you stupid boy,” she spat. “This is about the one who cost me everything.”

Arthur braced himself for an attack, but to his surprise she simply raised a hand and threw him into the side wall. With fast, deliberate steps, she descended on a dazed Merlin, closing a hand around his throat and forcing him to his feet against the wall.

“You pathetic, _weak_ little man,” she said, loathing dripping from every word, and she slid the knife between his ribs.

The sharp, slicing pain brought Merlin back to himself just as Morgana’s head snapped to the side, slammed by the heavy kettle in Arthur’s hand. The witch slumped, blood pouring from the deep dent in her skull, and without her hand pinning him to the wall, Merlin toppled forward.

Before he could hit the ground, Arthur’s firm arms caught him around the middle.

“Merlin?” said Arthur, his voice shaky. “Merlin, are you okay?”

He levered himself onto the ground, pulling Merlin’s weakening form against his chest – a painful facsimile of their last goodbye.

“It’s just a knife, Merlin,” said Arthur. “Nothing magic, you can heal yourself!”

Merlin felt blood bubbling up his airway.

“Can’t,” he rasped out, watching as drops of red flicked onto Arthur’s neck and face. “Too late.”

“But you’re a warlock!” shouted Arthur. “What good are you if you can’t save yourself?”

Merlin smiled. “You always did say I was useless.”

Arthur choked, holding his friend tight against his chest. “It will happen again, won’t it? You and I, we’ll come back again?”

“You’re not going anywhere!” snarled Merlin, indignant even as blood trickled down his chin.

“Tell me you’ll come back again!” bellowed Arthur, tears now streaming down his face.

“I…” whispered Merlin. “I don’t know.”

Arthur stared at him, then let his chin fall to his chest, breath hitching. “But you have to.”

Merlin’s breaths were getting harder, his lungs feeling like they had been filled with lead. With the last of his strength he reached across and took Arthur’s hand in his own, smiling softly. Then, slowly, his eyes lost focus, and his head dropped back onto Arthur’s arm.

Arthur held onto him long after the sun set.

By the time the confused villagers came to check on the suspiciously silent blacksmith, his cottage was empty save for the red stains on the floor and the body of a gaunt young woman with a broken skull. Arthur, and his enigmatic companion, had disappeared. 


	2. Chapter 2

“ _My_ magic?” squeaked Merlin. “What the hell, Arthur, I don’t have magic!”

“See, I knew that would be a bad place to start,” griped Arthur. “If you let me tell you the rest of the story it’ll make more sense, okay?”

Merlin stared at him. “If you have a story that can make that particular piece of horseshit make sense, I’d love to hear it.”

Arthur glared at him. “I thought you said you were going to listen. Not attack me over how insane it is.”

Merlin looked away, taking a deep, aggravated breath. “Fine,” he said. “Go on.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at his companion. “So, the next thing you have to accept,” he said, trying to sound as reasonable as possible, “is that there is such a thing as reincarnation.”

“What, like, being born again?”

“New body, new time, new life.”

“Okay… sure.”

Arthur glanced over at him in surprise. Merlin sent him a disparaging look.

“Well, if I’m supposed to accept magic, reincarnation isn’t that much of a leap.”

Arthur chuckled, leaning his head against the wall. “I suppose not, but I knew about magic long before I thought rebirth was possible.”

“Of course you did,” Merlin deadpanned. “So, I suppose this is relevant?”

“Do you really think I’d have brought it up if it wasn’t?”

Merlin sent him a glare. Arthur met his eyes, completely unfazed.

“Okay, fine,” said Merlin. “So… are you saying this whole cock-up has got something to do with someone who’s been reborn?”

Arthur smiled, eyes challenging Merlin to understand.

“And this has something to do with us?”

Arthur simply let his smugness shine through. Merlin’s eyes widened in realisation, and then he glowered.

“Oh, come on, you’re not saying…”

“Aren’t I?”

Merlin pulled a face. “You?”

Arthur shrugged. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes!”

The blonde chuckled.

“So,” continued Merlin. “You’re saying that you had a life before this?”

Arthur nodded. “And I’m not the only one.”

“What?”

Arthur levelled his gaze at him. Merlin screwed his face up in confusion, lost for a moment, and then his eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, for… no way.”

“You wanted the truth.”

“ _Me?_ ”

“You.”

“ _I’ve_ lived before?”

Arthur looked at him fondly.

“Many times.”

 

* * *

 

The second time Merlin was reborn, he was very, very rich.

A baron and his wife had been trying for a son for years, and after four pretty girls who would eventually marry away from the barony, the arrival of little Merlin was an occasion of inestimable joy.

Merlin grew up healthy and strong under the strict gaze of his father. As his mind settled once again into the familiar patterns of the farm boy with a big mouth, he found a new sympathy for Arthur, having spent his first childhood under Uther’s unyielding fist. Merlin’s own father ensured that the boy was well educated, and highly disciplined in his manners. He was taught to fight, though even with training since birth, he knew he could not hold a candle to the skill he’d seen in Arthur.

Merlin gave his new father every reason he could to brag of him to the other nobles, and in turn their estates. He hoped that by throwing his name to every corner of the land, he might catch the ear of the man he had left behind. It had been long enough that even if he lived full lifetime, Arthur the blacksmith would be long dead, so Merlin cast his net as wide as possible, and waited.

In the meantime, he used his extensive influence to gather all the information he could on reincarnation and the nature of the soul. It was almost criminal how much easier his search was this time. The power that came with overflowing coffers was impressive and a little unsettling.

He could still find no actual accounts of the phenomenon, but he read lengthy theses on how it was expected to work, and found the records of several suggested methods for manipulating the process. Certainly, none had worked yet, but then none of those sorcerers had been Emrys.

In addition, he gathered every reference to possession, soul bonding, astral projection, and anything else he could get his hands on that treated the soul as a separate entity. His father was less than impressed by his son’s obsession, but magical theory was a respectable field of study, so he allowed the boy his quirk.

And, one day in late Summer, a peasant boy came to the estate asking for work. He was strong, and clearly very capable, so the baron sent him to the servants’ quarters to settle in. The house was heavily warded in case of attack, so the boy kept to his quarters and went only where he was told. Any disobedience from the staff was to be met with immediate dismissal.

More than two weeks later, Merlin strode (with utter confidence and authority, as his father had taught him) to the stables to fetch his horse. The usual stable hand had been taken ill, so he expected to prepare his horse himself. Instead, as he approached his tall, chestnut mare, he saw that she was already saddled and bridled. He stepped forward in confusion, reaching out to pet his horse, when a hand materialised from behind the creature’s shoulder, offering him the reins.

“Geoffrey said you always go riding at this hour on a Sunday,” said an achingly familiar voice. “He’s ill, so I said I’d take care of it.”

Merlin followed the voice behind the horse, coming face-to-face with the man who had once been called his destiny.

“You came,” he breathed, his eyes growing wet.

Arthur smiled tenderly, moving to embrace him. “Of course I did, idiot.”

Merlin clutched onto Arthur’s shoulders, bunching the fabric of his shirt in tight fists and refusing to let go. For the first time in years he let himself surrender to the marvel of this repeated life, that even after two soul-shattering goodbyes he and Arthur still had this chance to live together, within each other.

Once the elation of their reuinion had worn off, there were more pressing matters to deal with. Merlin requested the new boy attend to him personally, and the other staff made a point of not examining that too closely.

“So,” began Arthur. “Are we any closer to figuring out why this is happening?”

“Not a stitch,” said Merlin. “I’ve been doing a lot of research, and there are plenty of theories as to why it _might_ happen, but the topic is so vaguely understood that they could all be wrong. One possibility is that because we had such a profound influence on the world, and because we were all so heavily steeped in magic, the people keep calling us back with their memory. On the other hand, it could just be that destiny has a plan for us later on and doesn’t want to let us go in the meantime. I’ve no idea.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe everyone in the world is reincarnated, and we’re just the ones who remember?” asked Arthur.

Merlin looked at him in surprise. “I suppose that could be it too.”

For all their ruminating, which was ultimately bound to lead nowhere, there was one subject that neither wanted to touch on, but they knew could not be avoided forever.

“So,” said Merlin, preparing himself. “What about Morgana?”

Arthur looked at him with a troubled expression. “She’s back too.”

Merlin swiftly expelled air from his lungs, while Arthur simply shook his head.

“I don’t know where she is, though,” he continued. “This time she was my aunt. I guess she’s always going to be related to me, I don’t know. The insanity took over again and she left our family before I was born. She’s just an unseemly story to them now.”

Merlin regarded the firelight in contemplation. “So, she’s been on her own for at least eighteen years, doing God knows what.”

“One thing is certain,” said Arthur, decisively. “We know where she’ll end up.”

Merlin looked to him askance, to which Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Do you really think, if I managed to follow your name here, that she won’t?”

Merlin had to concede on that.

Arthur continued. “There’s never been anything more important to her than hurting us, not even taking the kingdom. That was always secondary.”

“So she’s going to come after us,” Merlin said, his voice low.

“Undoubtedly,” agreed Arthur.

Merlin stood by the fire, staring into the flames. “We’ll be ready,” he said with conviction.

Over the following months, Merlin threw himself into his studies, immersing himself in soul magic and folklore, searching for a solution. Arthur tried to help, but could offer little, and the baron was growing impatient with his son’s long nights in the library, going so far as to have servants slip him sleeping draughts with his evening meal.

Still, after fourteen months intensive study, Merlin had a workable plan for the inevitable stand-off. He stood at his desk, fingers delicately curled around the parchment holding his drafted spell.

“What now?” asked Arthur.

“Now,” replied Merlin, gazing out a window, “we wait.”

 

* * *

 

Merlin rubbed absently at his wrist, trying to ignore the dull pain of the cuff.

“Okay then,” he said, voice faltering a little. “So, I’m the reincarnation of some dude from the past who keeps coming back. And so are you.”

Arthur pursed his lips. “That’s about the gist of it.”

“So, does that mean these people want me because of who I used to be?”

Arthur shrugged. “That, and the power you used to have.”

“Okay, say I accept all this. Say we’re both reborn souls or whatever. How come you know about all this, and I don’t?”

Arthur sat very still, breathing deeply. “I remember every life I’ve spent upon this Earth.”

If Merlin wasn’t sure this was all crazy, he might have thought he could hear the centuries weighing down in Arthur’s voice. “…Is that normal?”

“For us, yes,” said Arthur. “Part of our reincarnation deal is that we remember who we were from birth.”

Merlin stared at him, a frown marring his brow.

“Then why don’t I?”

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching in fury. When he spoke, his voice was laced with anger and pain.

“Your memory was taken from you.”

 

* * *

 

When Morgana finally arrived at the estate she was not alone.

By this time, Arthur had worked for the baron for eight years, scrubbing the halls and attending to the every whim of the man’s impulsive heir. In public, he was every inch the humble, dutiful servant. In private, he pelted Merlin with dirty laundry and made sure that he knew exactly how far his ears poked out from under his tailored black hat.

Secretly though, a large part of him marvelled at the confidence and respectability that Merlin seemed to exude in this new life. He held a level of command in his stance and his voice that Arthur had never expected to see from the man, having died too soon to witness his stint as Camelot court sorcerer. In this life, Merlin seemed born to lead, completely comfortable with his power and benevolent in its use.

For his part, Merlin was having entirely too much fun making Arthur continually muck out the stables and press his clothing. He’d made a catalogue in his head of all the stupid orders Arthur had given him in their first life and was slowly moving through the list. Right now in his bedroom there was a rat that Merlin had released purely so Arthur could spend hours trying to catch it and repairing everything it ate through.

“This is ridiculous!” bemoaned Arthur. “That little demon could be anywhere!”

“Yes, it could,” said Merlin, not bothering to conceal his glee. “ And I expect you to find it before dinner tonight so you’ll have time to dress me and muck out the stables before I have to meet my father.”

Arthur stared. “ _Nobody_ could do all that in two hours.”

“I did.”

“You have _magic_!”

“And you didn’t know that,” sniped Merlin with a smirk. “Which means you either had _no idea_ how horrific my workload was, despite me telling you about forty thousand times, or you were actually _trying_ to make me pass out on the job.

“Either way,” he continued, leaning in with a sadistic grin. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

He straightened with a sharp snap and strode from the room, practically skipping to the music of Arthur’s indignant spluttering.

Merlin made his way to the library, ensconcing himself in his favourite corner and pulling an encyclopaedia of botany from the pile of books on his desk. The volume was not as thorough as he might have liked – it left out many of the useful herbs Gaius had introduced him to in Camelot – but it did have an extensive section on poison antidotes, and Merlin had never really left behind his obsession with the subject since that God-awful Morteus coma.

It was twenty minutes later, with his nose far too close to the page to be comfortable, that Merlin heard the faint sound of a commotion coming from the front of the house. Curious, he laid his book to the side and hurried out of the library and down the corridor. There were people yelling, sounding agitated. He recognised the angry shout of the doorman, and picked up his pace.

“You cannot simply barge in here unannounced!” insisted the doorman. He let out a yell of indignation and Merlin heard a thump.

“We’ll be quick, I promise,” said a silken voice, and Merlin froze.

She was here. Over a century since she’d slid a knife into his heart, and here she stood in his foyer. Merlin took a steadying breath, flinching as his doorman’s protests were cut off with a sharp crunch.

A hand settled on his shoulder and he snapped his head around to look, meeting Arthur’s grave expression. The blonde servant was tense, his mouth a grim slash as he stared into Merlin’s eyes with one clear question outlined in his tense face.

_Are you ready?_

Merlin set his jaw, lifting his chin and turning to the door leading into the foyer. He was done waiting.

The door splintered inwards with a crash, sending little pieces of wood shooting over the hallway. A tall man in dirty brown clothing strode through the opening, catching sight of the two men and grinning.

“I believe I’ve found them, my lady,” he drawled, stepping aside to leave the doorway free. A slender, ragged form filled the opening, and Merlin caught sight of his erstwhile murderess.

Her face was worn, and she had drawn her matted hair back from her face with a strip of fabric. It was shot through with streaks of grey, and her skin had long since started to wrinkle. Merlin could not help but be fascinated by the sight. Morgana had never made it to this age before.

“Hello, brother dear,” she said, with such intense hatred it was almost reverence.

“ _Nephew_ , Morgana,” corrected Arthur.

Morgana narrowed her eyes. “So you _were_ born into that squalid cesspit of a family after all. I should have stayed long enough to bash your brains in.”

Arthur said nothing, quietly assessing the three shifty looking men accompanying the witch. Each of them seemed viciously excited by the exchange, waiting for the confrontation to turn violent.

“Enough Morgana,” said Merlin, firmly. “This ends now.”

Morgana curled her lip in contempt.

“Do not _dare_ to think you can command me, _Emrys_ ,” she spat out the name like a curse. Her eyes flared gold, and Merlin was thrown backwards, skidding on the wooden floor. Arthur rushed forward, but a bearded man raised his hand from behind Morgana and sent him crashing sideways into a wall.

_All sorcerers_ , realised Merlin. _Damn_.

The four intruders swarmed forward, bearing down on Merlin and Arthur. Merlin flicked his hand and one of the men flew to the side, right towards Arthur. The sorcerer glared and spat, turning to retaliate, but Arthur pulled a dagger from the holster under his shirt and cut his throat before he could react. The man’s eyes widened in disbelief as he fell to the ground, choking.

The other two men had their palms pointed towards Merlin, magically binding him in place. Morgana glared at Arthur and he flew into the wall, unable to move.

The broken witch flexed her hand, eyes exuding sheer hatred, and smirked at Merlin, lips curling around familiar words of murder.

Merlin closed his eyes, feeling for the magic that bound him in place and following it back to its source, magically connecting to the two sorcerers. The men gasped in shock and confusion, eyes rolling in their heads before they crumpled to the ground.

Merlin felt his bonds loosen and he threw himself to the side, barely dodging the blast of energy from Morgana. He opened his eyes again, facing her head on, and began the chant he had prepared over five years ago.

Morgana’s eyes narrowed, confused and wary. She made to point at Merlin, but Arthur slashed at her outstretched arm, distracting her and forcing a sharp gasp of pain. She glared at him in fury, swiping her arm in an angry arc that sent his head crashing into the ground. Arthur grunted in pain, struggling to lift himself back to his feet.

Morgana snarled, flinging Arthur into a wall and turning back to Merlin, just as he finished the last decisive syllable and stretched his hand, palm upwards, to point at her. A blue light, streaked through with angry purple, shot from his arm and plunged into Morgana’s chest. She gasped, pupils blown wide as she was enveloped in furious blue. Long lines of purple curled around her flailing body and coalesced over her skull, pulling closer and closer until they sank within her hair and she screamed.

A final blast of bright white enveloped the room, and Merlin and Arthur flung their arms in front of their faces to block it, clenching their eyes shut. When the light finally faded from the room, they lowered their hands.

Morgana was still on her feet, swaying in place and staring down at herself in confusion.

“What did you…” she rasped, flexing her hands in confusion.

Arthur did not let her finish. He swept forward and plunged his knife into her chest before she could gather herself. Her face contorted in pain and rage, but she could do no more than gurgle impotently as she slid to rest on the ground. She twitched in furious agony a few times, and was still.

Arthur lay a finger a across her pulse, checking that she was really dead. He lifted his eyes to Merlin and gave a firm nod. Merlin relaxed minutely, scrubbing a hand down his face in anxious release.

“So,” began Arthur, “how will we know if it’s worked?”

Merlin pursed his lips, looking at the broken corpse.

“We’ll find out after we die.”

 

* * *

 

“How could someone take my memory?” asked Merlin, completely unconvinced.

Arthur rubbed his temple in distress. “There was a spell,” he said, voice soft. “Invented a long time ago. It was designed to strip someone like us of their memories and lock away their magic the next time they were reborn.”

Merlin grimaced. “Why would you ever want to do that?”

Arthur was silent for a moment, eyes lost in memory. “Not all of us were good. Some went bad. Mass-murder-and-torture bad. And being reborn over and over made it worse.”

Merlin was silent, face grim. Arthur closed his eyes.

“It wasn’t her fault. She was alone, and scared. Her magic, and the purge, and her _stupid_ family drove her insane. And even after the war was over, it still didn’t end, because then she was _back_ , with memories too big and too dark for a child’s brain. And she shattered even more with every year that passed.”

Arthur furrowed his brow, opening his eyes to glare at the far wall.

“We couldn’t stop her being reborn. She was an explosion waiting too happen, all broken and sadistic and still so powerful, and no matter where we looked we couldn’t find a way to make her death permanent, or even to predict where her next life would be.

“So we found another way,” Arthur gave a rueful smile. “It was a sort of soul-bending technique. She’d lose her memories every time she was reborn, and she wouldn’t be able to access her magic.”

“And by _we_ …”

“I mean you. I never had magic of my own, and you were the most powerful warlock the world had ever seen.”

Merlin huffed out a short laugh.

“Seriously? Me?”

Arthur looked at him. “Seriously you.”

 

* * *

 

After Morgana’s attack on the estate, Merlin and Arthur were at a loss for what to do with themselves. So much of their time had been taken up with worrying about the witch that their newfound freedom made them a little uncomfortable.

That night the baron had come home to a very distressed household. The doorman was dead, and there were four unfamiliar corpses in his house. Merlin was quick to explain that they were vagrant sorcerers, looking to rob the family of their wealth and not expecting to find an armed wizard in the house.

It was a testament to the baron’s trust in his son that he accepted this without question. Luckily, none of the staff had heard the exchange between Merlin and the intruders, so nobody thought to question why powerful sorcerers should choose to target the one estate in the area that housed a very widely known warlock.

Merlin and Arthur, for their part, could not be sure if their spell had worked until Morgana’s next reincarnation, and judging by how long had passed between their previous lives they expected that his would not happen for a long time. Nevertheless, Merlin let it be widely known among the county’s miscreants that any child by the name of Morgana would be an object of interest to him, and his rather fearsome reputation kept false reports at bay.

In the meantime, the baron became frustrated with his son’s solitary ways.

“It is entirely unacceptable for you to lock yourself up here day after day with nothing but that servant boy for company,” he declared, not sparing Arthur a glance. “It is time you saw some more of the world. Go to your uncle in London. Familiarise yourself with the working world. Find a wife to give you a son.”

Merlin tensed his jaw in discomfort but had no choice but to obey. Arthur was wary about the trip, but excited to see this era’s version of a big city. He also couldn’t help but be a little gleeful at his friend’s unease.

“Not so easy when you’re the one with a ridiculous image to live up to, is it?” he grinned.

Merlin threw a book at him, and Arthur ducked out of the way with a snicker.

So it was that the two of them were carted out to the bustling streets of London, far dirtier than Merlin had pictured from his father’s reverent stories.

The baron’s younger brother took them in with a hearty welcome, introducing Merlin to his portly wife and showing him to a luxurious dining hall already laden with cold meats.

“You needn’t have brought anyone with you,” he said magnanimously. “We have a very well-trained staff and you are welcome to any of their services.”

Merlin smiled at him shortly. “Thank you, Uncle. However, I find a well-trained servant invaluable in living a productive life, and this one has become accustomed to my needs.”

Arthur had to concentrate very hard not to roll his eyes at that. Merlin curled his lips in the tiniest of satisfied smirks.

As it turned out, London was the home of a thriving social scene, and one that Merlin was expected to be part of. Following his well-known uncle, Merlin was forced to attend a string of lavish parties, always accompanied by his unimpressed manservant. Much to Merlin’s chagrin, he had quickly become London’s most fashionable bachelor, and many families seemed determined to draw him into their ranks.

It was at one such party that he was reunited with two of his oldest and dearest friends.

On this night, Merlin was stationed near a grand staircase, surrounded by at least five women going by the name of Miss Chavingham (though they may have multiplied since he had last counted), when a hard knock came from the door and a man in a tailored suit cleared his throat.

“His lordship, Lancelot Bataille of Wivenhoe and his wife, the Lady Guinevere.”

Merlin snapped around to look at the door in astonishment as his long lost friends stepped into the room, arms locked and expressions delighted.

Gwen looked radiant in a long red gown that seemed rather understated after her jewelled Queen’s dresses. Gently guiding her, Lancelot held himself tall, accepting the scrutiny of the room with practised ease.

The two glided into the room, fielding their way through a maelstrom of rather pompous greetings. Keeping to the shadows, Merlin waited until the two had a moment alone, and crept close enough to murmur in Gwen’s ear.

“How is it that you can be the most modest lady in a room and yet outshine them all?”

Gwen’s head whipped around and her jaw fell open in astonishment. Merlin grinned as she visibly suppressed a squeal.

“Merlin!” she finally squeaked, and he gave her a soft smile.

“No, I’m the ghost come back to haunt you,” he said, eyes dancing with fond memories.

“Yes, well, don’t expect a kiss this time,” Gwen giggled, face splitting into an ecstatic grin.

Lancelot stepped forward, offering his hand stiffly in a clear attempt to stop himself dragging Merlin into a hard embrace.

“I’ve been hoping for this day for centuries,” he said, his voice low and genuine. Merlin clasped his hand firmly around Lancelot’s, drinking him in.

“I wasn’t sure anybody else was back,” said Merlin.

“This is the second time,” said Lancelot. “I searched for years in my last life, to see if I was the only one, but I never found anybody.”

“I’m sorry to have missed you,” said Merlin sadly. “I did a lot of travelling in my last life. Finding you two would have been brilliant.”

“It’s not that,” said Lancelot, shaking his head. “I wasn’t just just hoping to meet an old friend. I know what you did, what you lost. I know you went back to Camelot and protected Gwen. You kept Arthur’s legacy alive.” Lancelot had still not let go of Merlin’s hand. He was watching him intently. “And you freed me from Morgana’s curse. There will never be words enough to thank you for what you did.” He squeezed a little tighter. “But I have been waiting decades to try.”

Merlin had no reply to that, so simply squeezed back and tried to show all his earnest affection and regard in his eyes, before letting go.

He turned to look at Gwen.

“So you two found each other and married then?”

Gwen blushed, seemingly unsure whether she should be guilty about her new relationship.

“I waited my whole life to find you and Arthur and Leon last time. I never married, never even considered it. I was so lost in my memories of Camelot that I wasted away for fifty-five years. I couldn’t do that again,” she said, her voice sad.

Merlin felt as though he should assuage her of her guilt, but had no idea how. Instead he waited for her to continue.

“I loved Arthur very much,” she said sadly, “but I lived so many long years without him before my first death. I won’t cling to a long-dead relationship and ignore the beauty of the one I have.”

A deep voice rumbled from behind her.

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

Gwen and Lancelot’s heads swivelled to look towards the newcomer, and Merlin chuckled at their unguarded expressions of bittersweet joy.

“Allow me to introduce my manservant, Arthur,” he said, entirely failing to hide his amusement.

“ _Arthur_ ,” whispered Gwen, arms reaching out involuntarily before she aborted the movement, very aware they were still in public.

Arthur darted a quick glance around the room. Judging that there were no prying eyes waiting to socially condemn them, he took one of Gwen’s hands in both his own.

“It makes me happy beyond belief to see you again, Guinevere,” he said, his voice low. “You were one of the things I missed most bitterly after returning to the world.”

He gazed sincerely into her eyes. “Don’t you _ever_ feel guilty about moving on and finding some happiness in this world. You deserve every gift you’re given.”

Gwen’s eyes teared up a little, and Arthur smiled. “I loved you very much too,” he continued. “I still do. But our marriage ended a long time ago and now neither of us are alone, or unhappy. That is all I can ask for.”

He released her hand and turned to Lancelot, who was still tense. “And I can hardly think of a soul more worthy to be your husband.”

Lancelot’s mouth opened in astonishment. Arthur held up a hand.

“Merlin told me about your time as Morgana’s puppet. Neither of you betrayed me that day. And I remember well what you sacrificed to protect Camelot, to prevent Merlin or myself from doing the same.” Arthur drew up his chin, practically challenging Lancelot not to accept his gratitude.

Lancelot’s mouth was very tense, almost quivering with the effort of keeping composed. He closed his eyes and finally said.

“You can have no idea how much I hoped to hear that from you, my king.”

Arthur smiled a little ruefully.

“I’ve not been a king in a long time, Lancelot. You hardly require my approval or forgiveness anymore.”

Lancelot sent him a little glare at this. “I could never be fully content without them. You will always be my king, and my friend.”

Arthur gazed at him fondly. “Always the most loyal of my knights,” he said, affection and admiration in every word. “You were forgiven a long time ago, and you have my blessing.”

Lancelot looked ready to collapse, almost shaking with the effort of not embracing his old friend. Gwen was weeping openly now.

“Oh, we have missed you, Arthur,” she whispered.

“And I you, my lady.”

Gwen grinned at him, gaze shifting between him and Merlin.

“So,” she began, suddenly sounding a little gleeful. “You’re Merlin’s servant now?”

Arthur pursed his lips together in distaste.

“Yes,” he spat, glaring at Merlin, who looked indecently chuffed. “The idiot works me like a damn dog.”

“Haha!” she giggled. “Good! I remember what you were like to him in the early days.”

“Yes, in the early days, but then I grew up!” protested Arthur. “Something this complete _twat_ has apparently failed to do. And hell, towards the end he may as well have been one of the nobles! Joking and mocking and playing those ridiculous gambling games so that he could win all my…” Arthur froze, and his eyes widened in sudden realisation.

“You… you cheated!” he accused, turning to Merlin as his voice rose. “You won all my money in that stupid game because you used magic! You little…”

Merlin regarded him coolly. “You’ve known about my magic for two whole lifetimes and you’re only just figuring that out now?”

Arthur’s eyes flashed in fury. “Oh, I am absolutely rubbing poison ivy over your bed sheets.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him. “See, this is why you fail at being a manservant. Never let your quarry know your plan. Do it properly, and he’ll never know it’s you ruining his life.”

He leaned in with a smug smirk. “For example, hollowing out a log and filling it with sulphur before you put it on the fire leaves about twenty minutes before the chemical is exposed and burned, giving you plenty of time to leave the room before it fills with the stench of rotten eggs. That way, your master has no way of blaming it on you when the room starts to stink unexpectedly and will spend the next few weeks paranoid about his own flatulence.”

Arthur looked positively murderous.

“Do you know how easily I could kill you right here in this hall?” he said, his voice practically bleeding danger.

“Not as easily as I could give you back your donkey ears, my lord,” sniped Merlin, positively glowing.

Gwen let out an amused guffaw, hurriedly trying to school her features as Arthur glared at her.

“I’d forgotten about that,” she murmured, gleefully.

Merlin smiled at her.  
“I can’t take all the credit. It was Gwaine’s idea to use the firewood.”

Arthur’s eyes had narrowed to knife-thin slits. Merlin wondered if the threatening look was worth being entirely unable to see. He grinned.

Lancelot eventually broke through their staring match. “Two whole lives together since Camelot, then?” said Lancelot, thoughtfully.

Merlin turned to him. “Yeah,” he said. “Reborn in completely different parts of the country and we still seem to keep finding each other.”

“Yes, well,” said Gwen, a little wistfully. “I suppose you two would.”

Neither Arthur nor Merlin could find a reply to that.

 

* * *

 

“So I was, like, crazy powerful?” said Merlin, trying to wrap his head around the idea.

“Yeah, but don’t worry. I kept you in line,” replied Arthur, clearly amused at himself.

Merlin looked at him askance, and he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. You never went bad. I don’t think you’re even capable of going bad. You didn’t need me around for that. If anything it was the other way around.”

“I stopped _you_ from going dark?”

Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe. When we met I was kind of a wanker. Even cruel, sometimes. And there were a lot of things I didn’t now how to deal with back then. I made a lot of bad decisions. I never said it, but you made me… better.”

Merlin pursed his lips.

“Months ago, in that restaurant, I said I was sorry I looked like him. The one you were mourning. But it wasn’t just some old friend who’d died.”

Arthur shook his head.

“That was the first time I’d found you since your memories were stripped.” He leant his head back against the wall. “Living after your time – coming back again and again – it’s exhausting. Everything ends, everything you know and love, and you have to watch it happen. The only way you can survive it is if there’s someone else with you, someone important, and eternal like you.”

He paused.

“There are others like us – old friends, comrades – but you were the one that was always there. You kept me sane. And then you were gone.” He suddenly sounded very small. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

 

* * *

 

Arthur and Merlin stayed in London for a full five months after meeting the Lord and Lady of Wivenhoe. Their lives seemed to be an endless string of banal parties and uptight dinners, and Merlin felt he might explode if not for Arthur’s derisive commentary and Gwen’s barely suppressed giggles.

It was in late June that Merlin’s life took on a new direction.

Deciding to take a stroll through one of the poorer districts, Merlin lead Arthur towards a sweet-smelling bakery surrounded by urchins, his pockets and watch protected by a careful spell. On the footpath in front of them bustled a young woman, her arms piled high with a variety of coloured fabrics. Stepping on a loose paver, she lost her balance, scrabbling to get her feet under herself and toppling forward.

Before she could hit the ground, Arthur ducked forward, catching her around the waist with one arm and steadying her tower of fabric with the other.

“Oh, goodness! Thank…” she began, but trailed off with wide eyes when she caught sight of his face.

“Prince Arthur,” she gasped, stepping back in terror.

Arthur’s eyes widened in recognition. “ _You_ ,” he said in astonishment.

Merlin darted forward just as the lady began to back away. His jaw dropped.

“ _Freya_?”

Her eyes locked on his and she let out a hysterical laugh.

“Merlin! My God…”

The girl was flustered and completely on edge. After being reassured that Arthur wasn’t about to run her through a second time, Freya consented to let the two of them escort her home, to a small residence above a seamstress. She dropped off the fabric downstairs and made tea, stumbling over her words.

For a good while it was unspeakably awkward. Arthur apologised for killing her, Freya apologised for eating a good portion of Camelot, and Merlin asked the tactful question of whether or not the curse had followed her.

“Not since my first rebirth,” she assured him. “It must have been tied to my old body.”

“Okay,” said Merlin, a little confused, “but I thought you were bound to the Lake of Avalon now.”

Freya shrugged. “So did I, but after a while it felt as though I was no longer needed there, and I simply… faded from the water.”

She gazed at the wall in contemplation. Merlin watched her, feeling the beginnings of his old infatuation returning to him.

Arthur said nothing, feeling the guilt of this girl’s death weighing on him. She had been murdering people, yes, but she was clearly a good person who had actually helped Camelot after her death. And with powers like Merlin’s at their disposal they might have been able to cure her, but he had never even thought to try.

So he silently watched Merlin grow evermore lovesick, and when his master asked the girl if he could see her again, he was not surprised. Over the next few weeks, the two saw each other every day, completely in love with the idea of a second chance. It all struck Arthur as a little juvenile, as though they were falling back into the roles of the yearning teenagers they had once been, but Merlin seemed enamoured with the girl, and so he said nothing.

When, after three months, Merlin announced his desire to bring Freya back to the estate with him, Arthur simply said he supported him, and when the baron scolded his son harshly for his inappropriate choice of bride, Arthur reminded him of his own words.

“People should marry for love, not convenience.”

And so, to the shock of the county and the delight of Lance and Gwen, Merlin and Freya were married the next Spring. For his part, Arthur was dubious about a relationship built on three cold nights in Camelot and a rose the colour of strawberries, but the two made a comfortable life together, eventually having four children, though the third died within a week.

It was a testament to the kindness in the two sweet souls that even after the passion had long since worn away, they lived contentedly with their little family unit. Arthur remained in the family’s service until his death, some forty years later.

And so it was that for the first time, Arthur and Merlin grew old together.

 

* * *

 

Merlin bit his lip, rubbing at the abused skin on his shackled wrists. He quite desperately needed to change the subject.

“Okay then,” he said.  “So, I made a spell to fix the evil witch.”

That startled a chuckle from Arthur. “Yes, I guess you could say that.”

“Did it work?” asked Merlin.

Arthur glanced at him, eyebrow cocked.

“I mean, did it make her better?”

Arthur smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Morgana was born she was Arthur’s daughter.

In this life he had returned to his old profession as a blacksmith, after finding an offputtingly young Merlin at a farmer’s market. For his part, Merlin had rather enjoyed the dirty looks sent Arthur’s way for embracing a stranger that was clearly just about to enter puberty.

Since Merlin was still living with his parents, Arthur packed up his few possessions and relocated to their little town by the lake. It reminded him strongly of the stories Merlin and Freya had told him about her hometown in her first life, and how they had dreamt of making a life together in a place like this when they first met. He brought this up with Merlin, and the child gazed thoughtfully at the calm surface of the lake.

“I suppose it is,” he said, voice solemn. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Will you look for her?” Arthur asked.

Merlin pressed his lips together. “Maybe when I’m older, I don’t know.”

Arthur looked at him askance, and Merlin gave a sigh that belied his young appearance.

“I love her, and we were happy, but…” he frowned, “she isn’t _essential_. I don’t want to be like Gwen was, waiting and searching for a relationship my whole life that may not even be what I want anymore. If I find her, maybe we’ll do the same again. But I don’t _need_ her.”

Arthur said nothing, thinking of the long years that he and Merlin had spent looking for each other in each of their lives. There had never been another option.

In time, Arthur met a pretty girl with flowing red hair called Roslyn. She brought him apples from the tree behind her house and danced with him in the town hall after harvest. She was beautiful, and kind, and he married her under an arch of white flowers by the lake. Merlin wound white ribbons around their joined hands and the village cheered, throwing flower petals over the couple.

Two years later, an exhausted Roslyn held her new baby girl in her arms, gazing adoringly at the tiny bald head.

“Have you thought of a name?” asked Arthur, stretched out beside her. The midwife had only just let him in, huffing at his insolence, but the risks of childbirth had always terrified him, for obvious reasons.

Roslyn did not hesitate. “Morgana,” she said, and Arthur tensed in shock.

“Are… are you sure?” he asked, blood pounding in his ears.

“Yes,” she said, decisively. “I know it’s unusual – I’ve never met a Morgana – but don’t you think it just fits her perfectly?”

Arthur looked at the little baby girl and found that he agreed wholeheartedly. He supposed that this must be the strange compulsion that caused each new set of parents to name him ‘Arthur’.

Sprawled beside his wife, Arthur watched his child warily, wondering what he would do if their soul magic hadn’t worked, or even if it _had_. In his time on Earth he had been a jailor, he had been a warrior, but he had never been a father. He wasn’t sure if he could cope with raising a child that had once grown into the most vicious killer the land had ever seen.

In Roslyn’s arms, the baby girl shifted in her sleep, one arm flailing over her head. Against his better judgement, Arthur felt a swelling sense of warmth in his chest, driving out his doubts.

This child was Morgana.

And she was his daughter.

He dropped a kiss upon her forehead.

When he told Merlin, who was now the lanky teenager with the bizarrely wide smile he had been when he first arrived in Camelot, his only reaction was to blink in shock.

“Well,” he said. “That’s convenient.”

Over the years, the two men watched over the child as she grew, searching for any sign of the old madness, or any sadistic tendencies. Merlin regularly scanned her for magical potential, enveloping her in his magic and looking for a response, but none was forthcoming, and the baby simply gurgled in ecstasy at the feeling and tugged on his overlarge ears.

Morgana grew quickly into a lively girl with a tinkling laugh and a talent for growing flowers. And if any of the local boys taunted her for her obsessively green thumb, she tackled them and quickly introduced them to the wonders of soil smeared across the face.

At first Merlin was alarmed by this, but Arthur simply laughed in fond remembrance.

“Are you kidding, Merlin? Once, when Gorlois and Morgana were in Camelot, I told her the dress she was trying to make was gaudy, and she sat on me and forcibly sewed me into it.”

He chuckled, nostalgically. “Remember, before the magic and Morgause, she was still the woman who stood up to my father when he decided to execute a child. She used to smuggle bread to starving citizens and could outride most of my knights.”

Merlin watched the young girl pick herself up from her perch upon the village boy and dusted off her dress, completely self-satisfied.

“You still might want to stop her bullying the other children, Arthur. Otherwise I swear to you, witch or not, she will be the most terrifying teenager in the valley,” Merlin said with a small smile.

“Give her a minute,” said Arthur, watching his daughter with a small grin. “That boy’s been stealing Roslyn’s crumpets and I want to see if Morgana scares him enough to scarper.”

Merlin cast a sidelong glance at his friend, whose face was full of pride and affection. He found himself desperately wishing that his spell would hold true. He wasn’t sure if Arthur would survive losing this Morgana, so like the girl he grew up with but happier, freer, with a mother and a father and no god-awful prophecy dragging her inexorably towards a life of pain and loneliness.

Morgana happily stalked away from the properly cowed young boy, finally catching sight of her father and freezing in place.

Arthur’s face slipped effortlessly into chastising-father mode.

“Was that any way to treat one of your friends, young lady?”

“He’s not my friend,” said Morgana, looking at her boots with red cheeks. “He said my roses were floppy.”

“He _is_ one of your friends,” corrected Arthur. “You go fishing with him every week. But he won’t do that anymore if you’re mean to him.”

“But he…”

“Made a mistake,” said Arthur in a firm voice. “He was mean and he shouldn’t have done that. But if you lash out who everyone who hurts you even a little bit, you’ll drive them all away and be stuck on your own.”

Arthur bent down and ran a hand over her softly braided hair, gently guiding her head up to look him in the eye. “You like having all these friends, don’t you? Little Margie and Devon and Rinn?”

Morgana pursed her lips, but grudgingly nodded.

“Then you mustn’t try to hurt them or scare them. If they’re mean to you, you tell them to stop. Or you come get me, okay?” She nodded again.

“Good,” smiled Arthur, “because I’ve seen how those children are with you, and I think they like having you around too.”

Morgana’s eyes twinkled. “Of course they do,” she said, with a mischievous grin. “Look at me!”

She raised her arms by her sides in a parody of angelic glory, and Arthur laughed heartily.

“Very true, beautiful child,” he said, kissing her hair.

She whirled away, giggling, and ran after her fallen friend. Merlin watched her, still wary but slowly relaxing into contented affection.

He would be ready if she turned, but for now she was loved.

Merlin and Arthur never found any of the others in this life. They hoped that Gwen and Lance married again. Their relationship had been perfect to the point of blinding, and Merlin had no doubt that they would spend their entire lives searching for each other if that’s what it took. For their part, Merlin and Arthur were content in their little village. Merlin chose not to marry this time.  It simply didn’t fell right. And he had family enough in Arthur, Roslyn and their daughter. Ros had practically adopted him as he grew up, delighting in his mostly harmless magic tricks. He kept his more spectacular talents to himself, quietly honing his skills should they ever be needed, but unwilling to draw any unnecessary attention to their little village.

However, on Morgana’s sixteenth birthday, Merlin broke his rule and set up a phenomenal fireworks display, happily obliterating the terminal peace of the sleepy village for a single night. Morgana watched the exploding flowers and coiling serpents in undisguised reverence, curling into Merlin’s side and resting her head on his shoulder.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered. Merlin grinned, and flicked a wrist, causing one of the snakes to rear up and bellow out a massive plume of rainbow fire. Morgana’s breath caught and she held onto him tighter, laughing in awe.

“I wish I had magic,” she said, gazing up. Merlin looked down, pursing his lips. He sent up a shower of falling stars to keep the spectators occupied and grasped her arm, turning her to look at him.

“No,” he said. “You don’t.”

She frowned at him in confusion.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the light show. “Is for you. All for you. But that’s not all that magic is. Sometimes it’s responsibility, and hard work. Sometimes it’s pain, and sacrifice. Sometimes it’s death. And sometimes,” he said, gazing at her in anguish, “having magic means losing everything that matters to you.”

Morgana stared at him, seeing layers of aching sadness and loss that she had never noticed in him before.

“Uncle Merlin,” she said, watching him in fascination. ”There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Yes.”

“You’re protecting me.”

“Yes.”

She gazed at him, taking in his sincere, fierce expression. Slowly, she nodded, tucking herself back into his side and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” she said.

And Merlin smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning here for thoughts of self-harm.

“Yes,” said Arthur, his voice exultant. “It worked. She was new, and blank, and completely unbroken. She didn’t know who any of us were or who she used to be. It was perfect.”

“You were friends?”

“We were family, in every possible way.”

“That was… forgiving.”

Arthur looked at Merlin, who shrugged.

“Well, even if she didn’t remember, she still did all those awful things.”

Arthur’s face tensed. “No,” he said. “A different woman with the same genetic code did those things. Our memories build who we are. Sure, there were some things that stayed the same when she was reborn, but we raised her with kindness and acceptance, instead of chastisement and alienation, and she grew to reflect that. She was beautiful, and loved.”

Merlin cocked his head. “So what happened?”

Arthur smiled at him. “She died.”

Merlin blinked at that smile, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“So did we. That’s how it works. We live our lives, we grow old, we die. And if we’re lucky, when we live again we’re born close enough to find each other quickly.”

“Do we always find each other?”

Arthur looked at him. “The others? Not always, but they’re around often enough that we’re all still happily acquainted. And it’s a lot easier these days, with the Internet and mobile phones.”

“And us? You and me?”

Arthur looked at him with a strange half-smile. “I had thought this would be the first life we wouldn’t find each other. As it turns out, even when you don’t know anything, you still can’t stay away.”

Merlin stared at him.

“Every life?”

“Every one.”

“But… how?” he asked, hardly believing that with all the thousands of villages and cities and tiny hamlets through history, two people could always find each other.

Arthur shrugged, screwing his face up in distaste. “I asked you that once.”

“And what did I say?”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Destiny.”

 

* * *

 

“God fucking dammit, you little shit!” Merlin squawked, twisting around like a beached fish as he tried to get the ice cube out of the back of his shirt.

Arthur cackled, throwing him a mock salute and bolting out the kitchen door. Finally shaking the ice out of his clothing, Merlin apologised to the small group of people he’d been chatting to before hooning out of the kitchen like a Ferrari on fire.

“I will END you Prescott!” he bellowed, following the quick thumps of Arthur’s footsteps, which could still somehow be heard over the pounding music. He ran into a tall bloke with model-worthy hair – his name was Wayne or something awful like that – and the Adonis grinned at him and directed him through a door to the right with a jerk of his head.

“Remind me to tell you about this prank a friend and I pulled on the prat with sulphur and firewood,” he said, smirking.

Merlin grinned back. “Can’t wait!” he shot over his shoulder, then swivelled and shot out of the room. He paused outside the door, glaring at the row of identical doors dotting the hallway. He watched carefully, and noticed  the second to last on the right was ever so slightly swinging outwards. Merlin grinned.

He ducked into the nearest room and gathered up a large doona from the floor, pulling it over his shoulder and creeping up to the moving door. He slowed his breathing, biting his lip as he reached for the handle.

With a bellow the door was thrown open by a blonde berserker with a manic grin. Arthur barrelled towards Merlin with an evil glint in his eye and Merlin had just enough time to throw the blanket over Arthur’s head before the man ploughed into him.

Arthur’s arms attempted to grip him around the middle, but Merlin’s blanket threw him off and gave the skinny man enough time to grasp him round the torso and trap him in a giant downy cocoon.

Arthur twisted in irritation, flapping him forearms uselessly from when they were pinned to his side.

“What was that?” giggled Merlin, refusing to yield. “I can’t hear you!”

Arthur’s muffled curses floated out from under the tight blanket, and Merlin cackled. Arthur growled, stopping his struggles and bending his legs. Merlin’s eyes widened in realisation just as a leg weaved behind his hip and eighty kilos of muscled Englishman forced him backwards. He ploughed into the floor in an awkward flailing flip and Arthur tumbled on top of him, knocking the breath from his lungs. He gasped and guffawed as Arthur tore the blanket from over his head and threw it in Merlin’s face, smothering his helpless protests. Arthur leaned his weight forward.

“Is there a problem, Merlin?” drawled Arthur, making sure a knee was crushing into the man’s solar plexus. Merlin squeaked in protest and Arthur laughed, pulling back just enough to let him breathe.

As Merlin felt the pressure slacken, he grinned. Arthur’s weight pulled away and Merlin twisted sharply, catching Arthur by surprise and throwing him off. As Arthur straightened to attack again, Merlin plunged forward, throwing off the doona and causing the two of them to stumble through the open door.

Arthur growled, curling an arm around Merlin’s neck and pulling him into a headlock. Merlin whined, and slapped at Arthur’s arms and back ineffectively.

“Fine! Fuck, you win!” gasped Merlin, thoroughly pissed. “Arthur, gitoff!”

Arthur smirked, slowly uncoiling his arm from his friend’s neck. Merlin pulled himself upright, sniffing with all the dignity he really didn’t have.

“You’re a tool,” he said, glaring at Arthur, who smiled victoriously.

“And you’ll never win,” he said simply.

Merlin scowled deeply, hoping it would hide the massive grin he could feel trying to steal its way onto his face. Arthur was evidently not fooled, ruffling his hair with a chuckle and gazing at him fondly.

Merlin blinked owlishly, a little startled by the tenderness in Arthur’s expression. He seemed to be getting a lot of those looks from Arthur these days, even more than the bittersweet remembrance that had been so commonplace when they first met. Merlin felt his cheeks heat up a little, and deliberately stepped away.

“So,” he said, forcing himself to look over the room they’d tumbled into. “Lance’s house is pretty huge, huh?”

Arthur let out a short breath and shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “This has got to be one of what, four sitting rooms?” He shook his head and smiled. “He didn’t have that much growing up, but he and Gwen are hard workers. They built up this life from nothing.”

Merlin looked over the fine armchairs and mahogany table, letting out a whistle.

“Christ, that’s impressive. How old are they? They’d have to be about your age.”

“Lance is twenty-six and Gwen is twenty-four,” said Arthur. “And if you point out how much more successful they are than me I will make you _eat_ that cushion.”

Merlin laughed, slumping on the lounge. It was sinfully comfortable.

“Twenty-six… they must have been married young,” he said thoughtfully.

Arthur’s lips twitched in a carefully controlled smile. “They met when Lance was nineteen. They were married a month later.”

Merlin stared at him. “A _month_. Are you fucking kidding?”

Arthur shrugged. “It’s a bit insane, I know. But you’ve seen them together. Why wait?”

“Because people take longer than that deciding which _car_ to buy.”

Arthur chuckled. “They knew what they wanted. They went for it. And they have never regretted it. Much to their families’ utter shock.”

Merlin shook his head in disbelief. “To each their own, I guess.”

Arthur shoved him over on the chair and planted himself alongside, letting his head fall back onto the chair.

“I’m glad you got to meet them all,” he said.

Merlin glanced over to him, but Arthur didn’t look away from the ceiling.

“Me too,” he said, softly. He screwed his face up. “Percy’s the size of a house.”

Arthur huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, he is. First time I met him, he literally pushed a boulder off a cliff.”

“Er… why?”

Arthur smiled wryly. “I guess it seemed like the thing to do.”

Merlin opened and closed his mouth a few times, completely unsure what to say to that. Eventually, he did the manly thing, and punched Arthur lightly in the shoulder. Arthur caught his wrist as he pulled away, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Merlin simply shrugged, pulling his hand from Arthur’s grasp and ruffling his hair affectionately.

“I’m glad I came tonight,” he said, smiling softly, and Arthur returned it.

“They’re a bit weird,” he replied. “But these wankers are the best friends you could ever hope for.”

Merlin could feel the earnest regard in that, and watched his friend fondly. Arthur looked away, seeming a little lost in memory. He breathed softly, completely relaxed, and unconsciously leaned into Merlin’s palm, still threaded in his hair.

Merlin caught his breath silently, only now realising that he still hadn’t moved his hand.

It was strange. It was intimate. It was not something most would do with their best friend of five months. He could feel warmth in his palm, a soft, buzzing energy that was not coming from Arthur, and he moved his hand experimentally, feeling the soft locks thread through his fingers.

Arthur barely seemed to notice, still lost in thought, but his head absently tilted so Merlin could cradle it more effectively.

Heat began to crawl up Merlin’s neck and a strange fullness built in his chest. He took a deep breath, feeling as though his entire body was listing towards Arthur.

A small, incredulous smile crept onto his face. Merlin was no stranger to physical attraction, but this was new. He felt as if the world had narrowed to the two of them on their little couch in this little room, and that was perfect. He took a moment to savour the warm energy thrumming through his body, unable to believe how glorious it felt to simply touch Arthur.

Before he could second-guess himself, he leant forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur started, breathing in sharply and turning to stare at Merlin. Merlin did not move, looking at him steadily, and refusing to turn away.

Arthur’s mouth formed a small ‘O’ and he tilted his head, looking at Merlin as though he had never truly seen him before.

“Merlin,” he whispered, like a revelation. The flush on his cheeks battled with the frown on his brow, and something in Arthur seemed to realign. He reached out to run his knuckles along Merlin’s jaw, and Merlin shivered, leaning into the contact. Arthur’s eyes flickered and focussed on him with a new intensity. He grasped Merlin by the back of the neck and pulled him forward until they were a breath apart. The two breathed deeply, tense with anticipation, Merlin waiting for Arthur to make a decision. Finally, painstakingly slowly, Arthur leaned forward and pressed his lips against Merlin’s.

Merlin let out a long-held breath and pressed forward, melting into the kiss. Arthur tasted of citrus and rum, sharp and sweet and enticing. Merlin’s lips slipped open, and he drew Arthur’s bottom lip between them. Arthur breathed deeply, touching and tasting, and as he relaxed into the kiss his hesitance bled away, until he was clutching at Merlin, pulling him closer. He tilted his head and pressed forward, darting his tongue forward to run along Merlin’s lip. Merlin let out a small moan and slid his tongue out to meet Arthur’s. He curled one hand around Arthur’s neck and ran the other through his hair, drawing himself forward until he was practically in Arthur’s lap. He let his mouth leave Arthur’s, trailing a series of nips along Arthur’s jaw and down his neck, stopping to latch on to Arthur’s pulse point. Arthur gasped, clutching Merlin tightly and giving a sharp buck forward with his hips.

“ _Merlin_ ,” he breathed, voice glowing with rapture. Merlin felt that single word wash over him, sending fire dancing along his muscles. He ran his hand down Arthur’s side.

Suddenly, Arthur froze. Merlin paused, feeling the body beneath him suddenly tense. He pulled back, frowning in confusion.

“ _Merlin_ ,” said Arthur, and this time there was no desire. Arthur sounded horrified, lost and confused. Merlin watched the warring emotions on his face.

“Arthur, what…”

Arthur pulled away completely, extricating himself from Merlin and jumping up from the couch.

“I can’t…” he began, staring at Merlin. “You… you’re _Merlin_. We aren’t… you’re not…” He scrubbed his hand down his face, looking miserable.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head, and he turned his back to Merlin and fled from the room.

Merlin stared after him, mouth hanging open, and feeling as if an icicle had lodged itself in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

“Destiny?” said Merlin, trying hard not to glare at Arthur.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” said Arthur. Apparently he had failed. “I’m not the twat who said it.”

Merlin shifted uncomfortably, scowling.

“This is _so_ not how I wanted to spend today,” he growled, and Arthur rolled his eyes, saying nothing.

Merlin sighed. “So, you said we’re here because of Morgana. Does that mean she’s one of us?”

Arthur looked at him sharply.

“Merlin, she’s the one who went bad.”

Merlin screwed his face up.

“Oh, fuck off,” he said, angrily. “Morgana evil? There’s no friggin’ way.”

Arthur grimaced. “As you know her, probably not. But you have to understand, her first life was… trying. She was trapped in her own fear. She couldn’t talk to anyone about it, so the pain and the anger took over. There were ways she could have saved herself, but the obstacles grew so big inside her head that she couldn’t see past them, and she broke down.”

Merlin tried to picture this, but found he couldn’t. Arthur watched him try to puzzle it out, and sighed.

“You don’t know how much of a difference having a good childhood makes,” he said, gently. “It sets us up for who we are, how we relate to people and how we deal with problems. Since Morgana was wiped she’s always had a pretty normal childhood. Loving family, supportive household, the whole thing. And you’ve seen the result, but now…”

“She has her memories back.”

“Every betrayal, every attack,” Arthur held his face in his hands. “Every time I failed to protect her.”

Merlin could still barely picture a dark Morgana. He tried, conjuring up an image of a gaunt, angry woman, swathed in black and wielding crackling magic. It reminded him of something.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he said, eyes widening in realisation. “You’re having me on, aren’t you? You _cock_!”

Arthur glanced at him in surprise.

“What?”

“This is a joke, right?” sneered Merlin. “Evil witch _Morgana_ , battling the heroes _Merlin_ and _Arthur_. And don’t tell me, Lance is short for Lancelot.” He scoffed, angrily.

Arthur merely raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re just making that connection now?”

“I’ve lived with this ridiculous name my whole life,” Merlin defended. “I’m used to ignoring the damn legend. So yeah, cute story, you really had me going. Done now.” He flipped Arthur off and scowled.

Arthur showed no outward reaction.

“Merlin,” he said, steadily. “We keep our names.”

“What?”

“We keep our names. In every life. We don’t know what causes it, but every time we’re reborn our parents pick the same name.”

“But that’s…”

“Lance is short for Lancelot,” Arthur confirmed, voice insistent. “Gwen is short for Guinevere. Percy is Percival. A lot of them shift their names around so the parallels aren’t so obvious.” He sat back. “You and me? No point. Arthur’s common enough and you didn’t know who you were.”

Merlin stared at him, mouth slightly open.

“Oh,” he said, voice low. “Oh, _fuck off_.”

“It’s the truth.”

“You’re saying that we…”

“Yes.”

“We are…”

“Obviously.”

“But we can’t be.”

“For God’s sake, Merlin. Why do you think I gave you all those damn Arthurian stories?” burst out Arthur. “I wanted to see if it would spark your memory. Even if they are inaccurate beyond belief, there’s enough truth in there to trigger _something_. Or I thought there might be. Should have known better.”

“I’m…”

“I mean, the spell had to be absolute, when we were taking care of Morgana, but I keep hearing about how unbelievably powerful you were, so I thought it might be different for the great and powerful Emrys. But no, you’re as useless as ever.”

“Emrys?”

“Oh, for…. it means immortal,” snapped Arthur. “It’s what the druids called you. Hell of a lot more accurate than either of us realised at the time.”

“That would mean that you’re…”

“Arthur Pendragon,” confirmed Arthur, raising his chin in challenge. His voice was steady, tangibly regal. “King of Camelot and leader of the knights of the round table.”

Merlin blinked, and then broke into hysterical laughter, running jittery hands through his hair.

Arthur pursed his lips.

“And yet,” he said. “Still more respectful than the first time we met.”

“This is _insane_ ,” breathed Merlin.

Arthur shrugged.  “No worse than anything else I’ve told you,” and Merlin had to concede.

“But I thought this great Merlin-wizard-person was supposed to be Arthur’s mentor. You talk like I was a mouthy upstart.”

Arthur’s nose crinkled up. “Please don’t call yourself that, it’s creepy. And yeah, that’s exactly what you were – rude little peasant boy with no idea how the world worked.” He rolled his eyes, but Merlin could see a small grin tugging at his lip.

“Then how come Merlin’s always shown as an old dude?”

“Because nobody knew what you were when you were young,” said Arthur. “Whenever you did really obvious magic your wore the face of an old man, and you didn’t take on your official role as Court Sorcerer until you were a lot older yourself.” Arthur shrugged. “The legends prefer us to be aware of each other in a way we just weren’t, so they put your official magical service and my reign at the same time. You made it to old age. I didn’t.” He looked said. “Hence, you became father figure to a little boy with a big destiny.”

Merlin shook his head. “I have no idea what to do with this.”

“Well, you can believe me or not,” said Arthur, dismissively, “but either way, that door’s going to open and in will come two very powerful witches who believe every word.”

Merlin looked at the locked door, and swallowed.

 

* * *

 

Arthur and Merlin had a code, established long ago with no explicit words, for when the weight of the centuries became too crushing to bear.

It did not happen often, and the boys were so well practised at hiding their pain that the rest of the world took no notice, but every once in a while Arthur would find Merlin avoiding his eye, or answering his questions just a little too late, and he would be reminded of a drawn looking servant scrubbing away at his prince’s boots the day after Arthur slayed a bastet. It was the look of someone who wanted nothing more than to crawl out of their skin and fly away, retreat beyond the corners of the world and simply fade.

It was one such day, toward the close of the nineteenth century, that Arthur came to call on Merlin’s townhouse. The stern-looking landlord let him in and directed him upstairs, and Arthur had to pick his way through an eclectic mix of papers and clothes strewn over the floor until he reached Merlin’s perch by the window.

“Honestly,” said Arthur. “For someone who’s spent half their many lives picking up after others, you really are appallingly messy.”

Merlin’s lips turned up a little. “Is there a reason you’re here, Arthur? Or did you just feel like critiquing my housekeeping?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Morgana wants our help.”

Merlin looked at him curiously. “Another suffragettes demonstration?”

“Of course,” said Arthur. “Scary woman hardly needs my help but I suppose having a lord on side helps lend the movement credence with the politicians, and I’m not wading into that political thunderstorm alone so get dressed.”

He tossed Merlin’s shoes at him and Merlin ducked, glaring, but stalked over to where the flat iron was sitting in the fireplace anyway.

“Give me a moment,” said Merlin. “I need to iron my shirt.”

Arthur grunted in impatience and flopped onto an armchair. Merlin quickly wrapped a thick cloth around the handle and retrieved the iron, placing it over a long white shirt.

He could feel the heat trying to claw at him through the cloth, and for a moment he pictured taking the heavy iron and pressing it to his forearm, feeling the blistering heat and watching as his skin scorched away to leave a ruinous, ugly wound that would never completely fade. He wondered how it would smell. The thought gave him a curling feeling of satisfaction in his belly.

He blinked and pursed his lips, dismissing the thought and industriously moving the iron over the shirt. He finished and set the iron aside to cool, pulling the shirt over his head with a sigh. As he did so, he realised that Arthur had been silent for a full minute, and he turned to find the man’s sharp gaze boring into him.

Arthur rose from the chair, pointedly moving the iron out of sight, before stepping forward to assess Merlin carefully.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low. Merlin’s answering grin was a full centimetre too wide and didn’t match his eyes, and Arthur frowned. He grasped Merlin’s shoulder.

“Bastet?” he asked.

Merlin blinked, and then his face sagged. He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling his fists bunch up against his will. Arthur took Merlin gently by the wrists, guiding him to a chair, and softly pushed him down.

“I’ll have a message sent to Morgana, that we can’t come this time,” said Arthur, decisively. He watched Merlin sadly. “You should have told me it had become this bad again.”

Merlin shrugged, weaving his fingers together and not looking away from the papered wall. Arthur frowned, and did the only thing he really could. He retreated to make tea.

There was nothing to be done at times like this, really. No words could make the centuries less heavy, or bring back the hundreds of friends lost to time. Nothing could cure the exhaustion of relearning the world again and again, and having to lie to nearly everyone you met. And so Arthur simply sat in the stuffy room with his shattered friend, and waited for the pain to pass.

Some hours later, as the two sipped on their fifth cups of Earl Grey, a harsh knocking came from the front door and Arthur hurried down before the grumbling landlord could make his way out. The door swung open to an agitated-looking Morgana.

“Where is he?” she said, without preamble. Arthur blinked at her, trying to work out what she meant, but she rolled her eyes, forcing her way in.

“You said you would come to help once you had Merlin, and the next thing I hear you’re backing out so you can stay with him. What’s happened, Arthur?”

“Morgana, you cannot just…”

“I can and I will, _dear_ cousin,” she sneered. “He is my friend too, and if you tell me it’s inappropriate for me to be here I will impale you on that hatstand.”

With that, she swept after him, climbing the stairs in an elegant upwards swoop that would have shamed a professional dancer. Arthur closed his eyes in exasperation.

Merlin watched her enter the room like an avenging angel, immediately taking up all the space with her presence.

“You really shouldn’t threaten your cousin like that, Morgana,” he said with a small smile.

Morgana assessed him from her perch by the door, taking in his casual pose and unkempt appearance.

“What happened?” she asked, looking worried. “Why couldn’t you come?”

Merlin looked away. “Honestly, Morgana,” he said, “I don’t always exist at your beck and call.”

“I know you don’t,” she snapped. “But Arthur doesn’t retreat at the last minute without reason.”

She saw how Merlin was pointedly not meeting her eye, and she stepped forward, sinking to her knees in front of him.

“Please, Merlin,” she said, her voice going soft. “What’s wrong?”

Merlin sighed, but finally looked her in the eye with a small smile. “I’m sorry, Morgana. It was just a dark day.”

She tilted her head. “What caused it?”

“There isn’t always a cause,” he said, shrugging sadly. “Sometimes the good parts of a mind just shut down temporarily. I can usually work through it, but your idiot cousin wouldn’t let me,” he finished with an exasperated smile. Arthur scoffed from where he stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Morgana reached out to cup his cheek in her hand.

“You hold so much pain in there,” she whispered, watching him sadly. “I wish you’d let me help.”

“There’s nothing to be done, Morgana,” said Merlin, shaking his head. “It will pass.”

He held her hand against his face and smiled. “But the fact that you want to help? That helps. More than you can know.”

Morgana gave him a blinding smile and leant forward, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s forehead. Merlin felt himself relax, ever so slightly.

“Well,” said Morgana, standing and dusting off her long skirt, “I’ll have you know that you’re both required to attend our next meeting in a week’s time, to make up for your deplorable absence today.”

Arthur chuckled and threw her a mock salute, going to the kitchen and pulling out a teacup for her.

“Earl Grey, milady?” he asked, grinning.

“ _God_ , yes,” she groaned, and flopped into a chintz armchair. “Agnes has been running me ragged with this campaign.”

Merlin smiled, and accepted another cup from Arthur as he lay back in his chair.

“You should have heard her today,” continued Morgana. “When she heard you were staying in with this old lump,” she nodded at Merlin, “she was full of all these wild assumptions.”

Merlin and Arthur glanced at each other, frowning. Morgana stretched languorously, watching them.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” she purred. “She’s hardly going to broadcast it to the hills. In fact she’s rather in favour of… what was it?… _sexual liberation_.”

Arthur’s eyes widened to the shape of saucers and Merlin choked on his tea. Morgana simply surveyed them with utter satisfaction as Merlin tried desperately to clear his throat.

Arthur glared at Morgana, his ears a little pink. “So is _that_ what goes on in your group when I’m not there? You cast aspersions on the people trying to help you?”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Oh, she’s just gossiping. Why let that worry you if there’s no truth in what she says?” She smirked at them.

“Perhaps because we could be arrested?” chimed in Merlin.

“And because… well… it’s _Merlin_ ,” said Arthur, his cheeks now darkening to a deep fuchsia.

Merlin scrunched his nose up in offense. “Well, thank you very much,” he sniped.

“No, but…” said Arthur, looking from Merlin’s raised eyebrows to Morgana’s gleeful smirk. “You can’t… we’re not… dammit, Morgana. Shut up!”

Morgana held up a hand to muffle her giggles, and Merlin simply watched his friend’s discomfort in amusement.

The funny thing was, Merlin could almost picture it. He and Arthur had known each other so well for so long it almost seemed strange that there were aspects of each other they still didn’t know.

In the early days, Arthur had been a brute, and a royal, and then there was Gwen, and a life that Merlin could never presume to be part of. Merlin would never allow himself to see Arthur as more than a friend, but over the centuries their dynamic had shifted, evolving through different families and cultures and conflicts, and the one thing that always stayed true was their relationship with each other. He regarded the shorter man thoughtfully.

Arthur was not his spouse, but he was the centre of his world. He was present in every decision Merlin made, and was aware of damn near everything he felt. Merlin pictured the two of them, as he had once pictured himself with Freya, and found he was not repulsed by the idea. A soft blush painted his cheeks.

Arthur, meanwhile, was still floundering to put together a coherent sentence.

“And honestly, Morgana…. you shouldn’t encourage such…. such salacious…”

“Yes, yes, Lord Byron. Your enviable command of the English language has convinced me,” said Morgana, smirking. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I’m off. I have an engagement I must see to.”

“Engagement?” asked Merlin, concentrating on returning his ears to their normal colour.

“Yes,” said Morgana, rising imperiously to her feet. “A rather rich countryman has come into town and wishes to lend his support to our campaign.”

“Really?” asked Arthur, sounding suspicious.

Morgana nodded at him. “Really. I’m not sure what his aim is yet, but I plan to thoroughly interrogate him tonight.” Morgana grinned. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll make sure he is what he seems. And if this is a sabotage or an attempt on my virtue, I’ll set the family lawyers on them.”

Arthur grinned at her in satisfaction and pulled her into an embrace.

“You do that,” he said.

Merlin watched the cousins regard each other fondly, and smiled.

“So,” he said. “Who is this mysterious countryman?”

Morgana’s next words froze him to his bones.

“He says his name is Mordred.”

 

* * *

 

Merlin could feel the shackles around his wrists leeching all the warmth from his body. Their tiny cell seemed to be even smaller than before, suffocating him.

“These witches then,” he said, digging his nails into his palm to keep himself grounded. “What exactly are they going to do?”

Arthur watched him worryingly. “I don’t know.”

“You said they wanted my magic for something.”

“It could be anything,” said Arthur, sadly. “When you were a wizard you had enough power to topple governments. You were the reason Camelot survived as long as it did.”

“Sure, in the middle ages.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” said Arthur, voice imperative, “when you were a kid you called lightning from the sky and literally _exploded_ the most powerful witch of the time. In the millennium after we first died we never found a spell you couldn’t perform, and you even invented a few. Nuclear weapons mean nothing when you have someone who can destroy them from across the ocean.”

Merlin blinked. “Holy crap,” he said scrunching his face in disbelief. “Am I seriously that dangerous?”

“No, I not dangerous,” said Arthur, and Merlin looked at him in confusion. Arthur gave him and earnest look. “You’ve been around for hundreds of years. There were a thousand selfish, destructive things you could have done with your power, but you never did.”

Arthur smiled, shaking his head. “These days people hold _me_ up on this pedestal as the great and just leader of legend, but I don’t think I ever met anyone as fundamentally _good_ as you.”

His face turned suddenly stony. “That’s what worries me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Say they do manage it. Say that bring back your memories and your magic like they did Morgana’s. You’ll be able to crush them in a heartbeat. It would be smarter for them just to kill us and use their own magic to attack, but they’re convinced that they’ll be able to use yours. But _you would never allow that_.”

Arthur glared angrily at the opposite wall, as if it would yield the answer to him.

“What makes them think they can turn you? How on Earth do they plan to bend _Emrys_ to their purposes?”

Merlin’s heart clenched with a new fear, and he whispered, “They’re going to do something awful to me.”

 

* * *

 

In the weeks that followed Lance’s house party, he and Gwen asked Merlin what had happened with Arthur about ninety separate times. Each time, Merlin stubbornly told them it was nothing, that Arthur had simply vomited on himself and left out of embarrassment.

Cruel, perhaps, but if the prat was going to outright ignore him after that rejection Merlin was allowed to be a little vindictive.

For his part, Merlin had felt a lead weight dragging down on his chest since the moment Arthur said, “I can’t.”

He should have known. It was always a risk, falling for a friend, but it was worse now because Arthur still saw him as some ridiculous monument to his favourite lost boy. He couldn’t separate his memories of someone else from the boy who wanted him now, and it was tearing him apart.

What made it a thousand times worse was that Merlin could feel just how much Arthur wanted him. He had felt Arthur’s desperate need to _possess_ in his hands and lips and tongue, and had heard the utter worship in Arthur’s voice as he whispered Merlin’s name.

And he knew that it wouldn’t be enough, because Arthur was a broken, _stupid_ boy with a frightening amount of pain in his eyes and a complete inability to be honest. Merlin had tried to call five times, hoping he could at least salvage the friendship he had just crapped all over with his mistake, but Arthur was very clearly avoiding him, and Merlin refused to be the jilted clinger-on, forever leaving messages. So he returned to his life, sour-faced, and tried not to kick in too many walls in his frustration.

Arthur, meanwhile, was trying to deal with a complete and total realignment of his worldview.

Merlin was his best friend, precious in ways that the oblivious boy could never _possibly_ understand. They had lived together, closer than man and wife, for over a thousand years, albeit with a few intermittent deaths in between. But they had never been _involved_.

Arthur touched his lips softly, feeling them tingle under his fingertips.

He and Merlin were tied together inextricably, profoundly, intimately. They had grown complacent in their roles as friend, confidant and unshakeable protector. Arthur had never thought… had never _allowed_ himself to think…

But this creature, this boy, was not Merlin. He had none of his memories, and hadn’t they proven with Morgana that the memories were what mattered? But the way he spoke, his jokes, his heartfelt declarations… and his _smile_ … they were utterly Merlin.

Arthur dropped his head into his hands. He had lost himself completely in the other man. He had felt alive and utterly content for the first time since the eighteen-hundreds, and it wasn’t right. It wasn’t his Merlin, and even if it was, wouldn’t this be taking advantage? Arthur had long since mapped out the infinite recesses of Merlin’s mind, and Merlin didn’t even know who he was. How could he be intimate with someone when every word he said was tainted with an inescapable lie? How real could their connection be if he could never share their impossible truth?

Arthur growled and picked up a nearby mug, pelting it to shatter against the kitchen wall. Shards of crockery scattered across the floor, mocking him with their soft tinkling. Arthur glared at them, completely unsatisfied. Eventually, he stalked from the dingy room, snatching up his keys and stomping to his car.

“I fucking _know_ I’m gonna regret this,” he said to himself as he pulled into a familiar apartment complex. He left his car in the driveway and knocked on the door before he could change his mind, trying not to cringe when it opened.

“Fancy seeing you here, Princess,” said Gwaine.

Arthur glared at him and stalked inside, elbowing the smug bastard out of the way.

Gwaine followed him through the house, wordlessly pulling a couple of beers out of the fridge and tossing one to Arthur, who caught it gratefully as he sank onto the lounge.

“So,” said Gwaine, carefully nonchalant. “I’m guessing this is about whatever happened at the party. Want to explain why I’ve had three separate calls from Merlin asking if you’re okay?”

Arthur cringed, letting his head fall back and taking a deep gulp of beer. Gwaine watched, raising his eyebrows.

“This ain’t a bar, Arthur. Talk about what’s bothering you or fuck off. I’m not going to play witness to your pity party.”

“He kissed me,” said Arthur quietly, and Gwaine’s eyes widened.

“Say that again?” he said, voice a little high.

“Merlin kissed me,” growled Arthur. “And I kissed him back.”

Gwaine crossed his arms, leaning back against the bench and shaking his head. “Well, I’ll be damned. I thought you two would never get your act together.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” snapped Arthur.

Gwaine chuckled. “Nothing at all, Princess. So why the hell are you talking to me about this? Why aren’t you talking to him?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to say? He’s known me six months. I’ve known him eleven-hundred years. We’ve both been married to other people and we were _never_ like that!”

“Oh, fuck off, Arthur,” said Gwaine, rolling his eyes. “You were always _like that_.”

Arthur’s head whipped up to stare at him. “What?” he demanded. “He and I were never romantic…”

“You were never sexual. There’s a difference. I don’t know how you define romance, but when I first came to Camelot I told him that none of you noble lot were worth dying for and it’s the most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen him. He was _devoted_ to you, Princess. More than any of us.”

“But that wasn’t…”

“ _Christ_ Arthur, did you ever bother to look in a mirror over all those lives? You found each other _every time_. You never even considered living on your own. It was _always_ him.”

Gwaine stared at Arthur, incredulous at the man’s stupidity. “I’ve never seen two people so totally wrapped up in each other, and I lived with Lance and Gwen for years.”

Arthur blinked. He had never thought… not _once_ …

“You seriously didn’t realise?”

Arthur looked at Gwaine, who was watching him in exasperation.

“We were never together,” he said desperately. “I didn’t think of him like that.”

Gwaine shrugged. “Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. I can’t see either of you repressed wankers acknowledging it even if you did feel something. But that’s not the point. What matters is what you feel now, and that seems pretty clear.”

“No, it’s _not_!” said Arthur, emphatically. “He’s not Merlin! He doesn’t remember!”

“That didn’t stop him becoming your best friend in, what, a fortnight?” Gwaine shrugged. “You treat him the way you always have, and he somehow does the same. He may not remember, but from the outside it doesn’t look like that much has changed.”

“It’s not him,” insisted Arthur.

“He’s tough,” Gwaine shot back. “He’s kind. He doesn’t take any of your shit. He grins just the same as that mouthy kid in the tavern that nearly got us all killed.”

“He’s not Merlin.”

“ _Fuck_ , Arthur!” shouted Gwaine, his voice cracking a little. “You’re not the only one who lost him!” He slammed his beer down on the table. “I miss him too. It _killed_ me when I realised what Mordred had done. I’ll _never_ forgive myself for not being there. But that kid you’ve been avoiding for weeks? He’s held on to so many of the best parts of who he was and apparently that includes the delusional bit that’s in love with you!”

Gwaine rubbed his forehead, visibly calming himself down. “Haven’t you noticed? He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. He has a mum and a dad. He’s had relationships that didn’t end with a sword stroke. He’s the same good kid he always was but without the years of pain and responsibility. Without all the fucking lies. And now he has you and it’s like he’s fucking _glowing_.”

Arthur felt tears at the corners of his eyes.

“God, he really is better, isn’t he?” he whispered. “He’s happier than he ever was.”

“He was always good before, Arthur,” said Gwaine, gently. “But he lived his life knowing that he had to save everyone, and then he couldn’t. That knowledge never went away. This time he got the safe, normal childhood he deserved, without the pain. Do you ever think that maybe he’s better off?”

Arthur clenched his jaw, biting back a harsh reply, and Gwaine cringed.

“Look, I know it hurts – losing him, having to start from scratch – but the parts of him that matter are still there. And he spent centuries protecting us. Don’t you think we owe him this?”

Arthur stared at his knuckles. For a full minute the flat was silent but for the soft ticking of the clock.

Finally, Arthur took a breath and softly said, “I kissed him back.”

“I know,” said Gwaine. “You said.”

“I wasn’t thinking of Camelot, or any of those other lives,” continued Arthur. “Just him. Just then.” He closed his eyes. “It felt good.”

“Then you should go with it,” said Gwaine.

“But you don’t get it,” said Arthur, growing desperate. “I let this be it. I let all that stuff be over. All of it,” His eyes clouded over and he took a shuddering gasp. “He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

Gwaine’s mouth fell open, and he watched as Arthur began to sob into his hands. He hastened over to the fallen king and slung an arm tight around his back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur heaved great shuddering breaths, hunched over on the couch.

“I promised him,” he gasped. “He protected me his whole life and I didn’t know until I was dying. And then I came back and I _promised_ I’d keep him safe. I owed him everything.”

Gwaine held onto Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur’s knuckles were white, clenched around the beer bottle.

They stayed hunched like that for a long time, Arthur pouring out all the pain and confusion he had bottled up for so long, and Gwaine simply holding him as he curled in on himself. Eventually the hacking sobs died down and Arthur leaned listlessly into Gwaine’s side.

“Why me?” asked Gwaine after a time. “Lancelot and Leon are better with relationship stuff. Why come to me?”

“Their relationships come from a bubble of pixie dreams and perfect happiness,” said Arthur, irritated. “And you never lied to me, even when I was king.”

Gwaine’s lip curled in a wry half smile. “I suppose that’s true,” he said. “So what are you going to do?”

Arthur was silent. He straightened in his seat, and Gwaine retreated, recognising his king’s need to reassert himself.

“First, I am going to go home, and sleep this off,” he said, gesturing to his bloodshot eyes and ragged features. “And then… I don’t know.”

Gwaine gave him a forlorn smile. “Well, whatever you do decide, good luck.”

Arthur nodded, rising to his feet and making his way back out to his car.

He spent a good deal of that night lying awake, and when he did sleep he dreamt of an intolerably rude peasant locked in the stocks, making jokes at his own expense as the citizens pelted him with fruit. He woke up feeling drawn, but had finally made a decision.

He quickly showered and piled himself into his car, driving over to Merlin’s flat. He knocked at the door and waited, anticipation clawing at his stomach. When Merlin finally opened the door, he looked sleep-mussed and confused.

“I’m sorry,” said Arthur, without preamble. Merlin blinked, completely unable to respond.

“You aren’t him,” continued Arthur.

“No, I’m not,” said Merlin, voice flat.

“I don’t want you to be,” said Arthur, his words coming far too fast. “I want you to be you. That’s enough. That’s more than enough. It’s perfect.”

Merlin breathed deeply, lips falling open.

“Are you sure?”

“I ran because I wanted this,” said Arthur, frustrated. “More than anything. I never let go of him, and then you were there, and it scared me how _okay_ I was with this being my life now. It felt like a betrayal.” He stepped forward. “But it’s not,” he said, gazing earnestly into Merlin’s eyes. “It’s life. It’s my life. And it’s exactly what I want.”

For a fraction of a second, the world was dead silent, and then Merlin reached for the collar of Arthur’s shirt and pulled him into a crushing kiss. Arthur met him with equal ferocity, and they stumbled together until Merlin’s back hit a wall. Arthur pressed forward, crowding Merlin so that every part of him was pressed against Arthur, feeling his warmth. Merlin attacked his lips like a drowning man. Arthur held Merlin’s face between his hands and softly bit his lower lip, dragging it towards him possessively. Merlin let out a needy whimper and Arthur smiled.

This was what it felt like to be complete.

This was perfection.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur clenched his fits, chains rattling.

“No,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “They won’t _fucking_ touch you. I won’t let them.”

Merlin let out a slightly hysterical giggle, rubbing the skin between his eyebrows. “Oh, well that’s fine then. I’m about to be torn apart by a thousand-year-old witch and her crazy sister, but never fear because I’ve got _King fucking Arthur_ to defend me!”

“Dammit, Merlin, what do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me this is all a joke!”

“No, I’m done lying to you, Merlin.”

“You know, I’m sure there are less elaborate ways to break up with me,” scoffed Merlin, looking away.

Arthur looked horrified. “Is that what you think this is?”

Merlin shrugged. “Makes more sense than the bullshit story you threw at me.”

Arthur groaned in exasperation, longing for the days when he could just smack his manservant upside the head to make him listen.

“Look,” he said, soft and patient. “How do you feel right now?”

Merlin shot him a look. “What?”

“Your body, in this room. How does it feel?”

Merlin curled his arms around himself, looking surly.

“I don’t know. Pissed off. Cold.”

“Sort of numb, like there’s ice in your veins and it’s making your body feel heavy?”

“It’s freezing in here,” scoffed Merlin, shrugging. “I’m getting hypothermic.”

“Merlin,” said Arthur, insistent. “It’s over thirty degrees Celsius in here. I’m sweating.”

Merlin looked at him in confusion. “What? Are you kidding? We’re in an ice-box!”

“Merlin, touch my arm. Feel the skin.”

“What are you playing at?”

“Just do it.”

Merlin reached forward and rested his fingers on Arthur’s exposed forearm.

“What the hell, Arthur, you’re burning up!”

“No, Merlin, I’m not.”

“Do you have a fever? You must me ill!”

“ _No_ , Merlin. It’s you. You’re cold. Feel the wall.”

Merlin pressed his palm against the wood behind him, finally noticing its strange warmth.

“But… wood doesn’t conduct heat like that… It can’t.”

“And it isn’t,” agreed Arthur. “It feels warm because your skin is icy. Now shut your eyes.”

Merlin glared at him.

“Please, Merlin,” said Arthur, sounding desolate. “If we’re going to survive this I need you to trust me.”

Merlin closed his eyes, wondering what he was supposed to do next.

“Focus on the cold in your arms and your chest. It’s flowing inside you, coming from a point where the feeling is strongest. Trace that energy. Where is it coming from?”

Merlin frowned in concentration. Now he really thought about it, it _did_ feel like the cold was moving through him. It was like a bag of ice water had been inserted under his skin and it was gradually leaking through the rest of him. He focussed on the feeling. Weirdly enough, it felt the strongest in his arms. How did that work?

He opened his eyes, staring at the shackles clamped over his wrists. The metal didn’t feel cold at all, so how were his wrists still bleeding out all his warmth?

Arthur watched him in expectation.

“Cold iron,” he said, angrily. “The easy way to completely cripple a wizard, at least for a time. It repels all sorcery, so the magic in your body is trying to retreat.”

Merlin felt the nausea he had attributed to a concussion roiling in his stomach.

“It feels wrong,” he whispered, sounding very small. Arthur listed forward, instinctively moving to protect him.

Merlin bit his lip.

“But I thought you said my magic was gone.”

“I said you couldn’t access it,” corrected Arthur. “But you’re Emrys. Stripping the magic from you would be like pulling all the salt from the ocean. It’s too deeply engrained, and there’s just so _much_.”

Now that Merlin was thinking about it, he could no longer ignore the creeping cold, the rising nausea, the utter sense of _wrongness_ stealing over every inch of his body. He rubbed at his chest, trying to force the feeling away.

“Arthur, how do I make it stop?” he asked, swallowing down bile from the back of his throat.

Arthur looked pained, and completely lost. He crawled forward, chains clinking behind him, until the chain was taught and he could go no further. He listed towards Merlin helplessly.

“I’m going to save you,” he whispered to himself. “This time, I’m going to save you.”

 

* * *

 

One of the strangest parts of living through an entire millennium was watching magic fade from the world.

It started slowly, with fewer people taking up the study. New religions began creeping through society, demanding loyalty and exclusive faith. The Old Religion had always been strict and unforgiving, providing more skills than emotional fulfilment, and even these were becoming rare as people turned their attentions to other studies, and so people turned away. With medicine and technology advancing increasingly quickly, the old ways were slowly made obsolete, relegated to archaic practise, and finally to myth. By the eighteenth century, magic had fallen from the height of industry to the domain of conmen and hysterical widows.

As such, Merlin had once again been forced to hide his magic from birth, a hefty challenge for the mind of a child, but as his brain matured he fell back into the routine of evasion and misdirection.

That being said, he was having a monstrously difficult time stopping bright tongues of energy radiating out from him as he marched through the cobbled streets in search of Mordred. Arthur followed, watching him warily.

“We don’t know that he’s a threat yet,” he said keeping his voice low.

“We weren’t sure of that the first time,” retorted Merlin. “Remember how that ended?”

Morgana hurried behind them, looking confused and angry.

“What on Earth are you two talking about?” she demanded. “How do you know Mordred?”

“You should have stayed back at the house, Morgana,” said Merlin, not looking at her.

Morgana scoffed. “You are _not_ leaving me out of this. Tell me what is going on.”

Merlin approached the fine-looking restaurant on the high street.

“Mordred used to be a friend of mine,” said Arthur, quietly. “We had a fight, it escalated, and then he decided to murder me.”

“ _What?_ ” screeched Morgana. “Why the hell wasn’t I told about this?”

“It was a long time ago,” said Arthur. “And I thought he was dead.”

Morgana stared at him. “Did you…”

“Apparently not,” said Arthur, cutting her off. He put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Do you think he’s been coming back all this time?”

“Could be,” said Merlin. “The world’s a big place. We could easily have missed him if he was lying low.”

“But why?” wondered Arthur. “Why show himself now?”  
“Let’s find out,” Merlin said, voice menacingly low, and pushed open the door.

The restaurant had the characteristic hush of the exceedingly wealthy. As Merlin entered, he felt the derisive glares of London’s socialites boring into him, but he ignored them. Arthur stepped up beside him, wearing his best royal face, and a man in a tailored suit approached them.

“May I help you, sirs?” he asked in a pompous drawl. Arthur stepped forward to address him, but Merlin missed whatever he was saying as he craned his neck to scan the restaurant’s patrons.

“What are you going to do?” hissed Morgana, whispering over his shoulder.

“Nothing drastic,” said Merlin, not looking at her, “but you still need to go.”

“Not a chance,” she shot back, and Merlin could picture her stubborn expression, though he didn’t look back.

A figure from the corner of the room rose to his feet, and Merlin went rigid. The round-faced man looked to be in his early forties, far older than when Arthur had killed him, and wore a crisp grey waistcoat that made him look sleek and lethal.

Mordred’s eyes narrowed on them in fascination. He abandoned his table and strode to the front desk.

“You may cancel my reservation,” he said to a harassed-looking employee. “I am needed elsewhere.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, but Mordred ignored him, turning to Morgana.

“It is lovely to see you again, my lady,” he said, effusively.

“You don’t talk to her,” growled Merlin, drawing his attention.

Mordred smiled at him. “Yes, she mentioned you, Merlin. One of her dearest friends; I could hardly believe it!”

“Merlin, what the _hell_ is going on?” demanded Morgana in a hushed voice. Arthur stepped between them.

“Not here,” he said, and Merlin pursed his lips.

“Indeed,” smirked Mordred. “It wouldn’t do for the peasants to hear this, would it, Your Majesty?”

“Don’t call me that,” snapped Arthur, and Mordred simply smiled, leading the way out of the restaurant and into a dingy side street. Merlin, Arthur and Morgana followed warily.

The moment they were out of earshot, Merlin invaded Mordred’s space, looming over him.

“What are you doing here, Mordred?” he demanded.

“Finding old friends,” said Mordred, spreading his arms magnanimously.

Merlin scoffed.

“The truth,” he snarled. “Now.”

“My, he really did let you off your leash,” regarded Mordred, wonderingly. He looked at Arthur. “What was it like, finally realising just how dangerous this one is?”

“Clarifying,” snipped Arthur, “And much less galling than being murdered by a friend.”

“I was _not_ your friend,” bit out Mordred.

“Clearly,” said Arthur. “And yet I tried so hard to be yours. I’ll not make that mistake again.”

Mordred scoffed, and Merlin glared, threateningly.

“Why. Are. You. _Here?_ ” he snarled.

Mordred rolled his eyes. “Coincidence,” he said, amused at his own words. “Oh, stop that,” he said as Arthur’s fists clenched. “I’m not lying. I was in town for a market and spotted Morgana at a rally.”

“And decided to rekindle old flames?” asked Arthur.

“Hardly,” said Mordred. “I’ve been reborn so many times since Camlann – just like you, I imagine – and there never seemed any point to revisiting old grudges. Camelot rose and fell without the two of us,” he smiled mockingly at Arthur. “In the end, nothing that we did seemed to matter much, did it?”

“That shows how shallow your cause was,” said Arthur, disdainfully. “The people of Camelot lived prosperously and peacefully for decades.”

“Without you.”

“Yes,” said Arthur, stonily. “Without me.”

Merlin’s jaw clenched in anger.

“So,” he said, voice cutting.” Have you just been living through a thousand-year existential crisis, then?”

“I thought, in the early days, that maybe I was supposed to keep going. There had to be a reason I came back,” said Mordred. “But there was nothing left to fight. You were dead, magic was legal, everything I cared for was gone.” He looked distasteful. “Brought back to life with nothing to live for. What the hell was the point?”

“Why does there have to be a point?” asked Merlin, annoyed. “Maybe this would all be enough if you stopped waiting for some higher ordinance.”

“Oh, leave it, Merlin,” said Mordred with a sneer. “I haven’t bought into your idealism for a long time.”

Merlin scowled, falling silent. The three men regarded each other warily. It was Morgana that finally broke the silence.

“You’re all mad,” she said, completely at a loss. Merlin and Arthur both started, apparently having forgotten she was there. Mordred, on the other hand, merely grinned.

“And _this_ ,” he said, almost reverent. “This is what I love the most. She doesn’t remember a thing.”

“What do you mean?” asked Morgana, warily.

“You were an awful influence on me, you know,” he continued, conversationally. “All I wanted to do was punish these two for their crimes, but _you_ …” he reached out a hand as if to stroke her face and she jerked away. “You convinced me to bring an entire army to its knees. I felt like I needed to hurt someone, but you showed me how to hear the music in their screams.”

“I never met you before last week,” she snapped.

“Haven’t you been listening?” he said. “You’ve been around a long time. You were the most malicious, twisted creature I ever met.”

“Leave her alone,” snarled Merlin, and Mordred laughed.

“And isn’t that just precious?” he laughed. “You’re _protective_ of her! You took her, wiped her clean and then shaped her into your obedient pet, and you’re worried that _I’m_ going to hurt her?”

“That’s not what she is!” protested Arthur.

“You violated her mind,” sneered Mordred.

“Arthur, what is he talking about?” asked Morgana, sounding so pointedly unruffled that he knew she was terrified.

“He’s trying to scare you, Morgana,” said Arthur, not looking at her.

Mordred laughed. “Of course, you won’t be honest with her. What if she turns against you again?”

“Morgana is happy,” said Merlin, sternly. “She is protected, and free, and loved.”

“And if she steps out of line again?” asked Mordred snidely. “What will you do? Kill her and try again next life?”

“ _What_?” Morgana squeaked, losing her composure. Arthur laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she automatically leaned into him.

“Morgana is family.”

“Morgana is a _doll_ ,” retorted Mordred.

“I’m tired of your philosophising,” said Merlin with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Morgana is not your concern. You will not use her as a motive to start another war.”

Mordred smiled pityingly at him. “You misunderstand me. What you have done is _beautiful_.”

Merlin frowned in confusion, and Mordred continued.

“You don’t honestly think I spent all those lives obsessing over you two, do you?” he said, sneering derisively. “Please, I lived on as peacefully as everyone. I assumed it was over – that our war and everything to do with it was gone. And that was perfect, even if eternal life was rancid.”

His lip curled in disgust. “But then I find that you two are back, still throwing yourselves into politics even though your time is _so very much over_. But you never could resist shaping the world to fit your image.”

A soft noise sounded from the end of the alleyway, and Merlin glanced over, but could see nothing. Mordred continued to prevaricate.

“The world moved on without us, but we stuck to its surface like leeches. And you two are as sanctimonious as ever, destroying or mutilating anything that doesn’t fit with what _you_ want.” He jerked his head at Morgana, who flinched.

“What does one do when a dictator cannot die?” asked Mordred, affecting a casual air.

“I am no dictator,” snapped Arthur.

“No,” agreed Mordred, nodding sharply. “You couldn’t be. You never had the power.”

His eyes slid across to Merlin, who stiffened.

“All I ever did was protect people,” he said.

“The people you approved of,” sneered Mordred, “and by all means necessary. You split fields in two and rained fire from the sky. You bound two dragons to your will and put your friends in power when you found the nobles lacking.”

“ _I_ did that,” corrected Arthur.

“Under his influence,” dismissed Mordred. “Honestly, Arthur. Did you ever stop to think how much you transformed over those years with him in Camelot? He _sculpted_ you.”

Merlin hissed, forcibly reining his magic back in.

Mordred looked smug. “Have I hit a nerve?”

“What is the point of this?” asked Arthur, completely unimpressed.

Mordred gave him a wide smile.

“When I realised you were back and active, I thought you were a disease with no cure,” his gaze slid to Morgana. “But that’s not completely true, is it?”

Merlin’s blood went cold.

“You couldn’t do it,” he said, angrily. “I _invented_ that spell, and I left no records.”

“You do remember that I studied magic far longer than you?” said Mordred smugly. A soft murmur sounded from the end of the alley, and Arthur whirled around, on edge. Merlin kept his eyes firmly on Mordred.

“You don’t have the skill to recreate that spell,” said Merlin.

“True,” conceded Mordred. “I never was a dab hand at magical theory. But I’ve had a long time to research, and it’s not hard to read the magical markers on Morgana.” He grinned. “It’s simply a game of drawing connections after that.”

Morgana looked white, rooted the spot and feeling frightened of her best friends for the first time in her life. Mordred turned an appraising eye on her, and she glared defiantly, but could find no words.

“I really must thank you for our _informative_ discussion last week,” he sneered, and she shivered.

“Merlin,” said Arthur, urgently. “There’s someone here but I can’t see them.”

“Very good,” said Mordred. “I had wondered how Mr Great-and-Powerful could have missed it, but he’s doing a remarkable job of repressing his abilities.” He cocked his head. “It’s strange, living in a world that thinks you’re a myth, am I right?”

Merlin clenched his jaw, letting his magic bleed out of him and taste the surroundings for he first time in years. Immediately, he felt sick.

There were _things_ everywhere. Dark things, full of loathing, but he looked around the alley and could see nothing.

“What are they?” he demanded, pushing out with his magic. The creatures faltered, but continued to press forward.

“Dead,” said Mordred, simply, and Merlin looked at him sharply.

“No, not like the Dorocha,” said Mordred, waving a hand. “Those are twisted souls. These,” he said, lovingly, “are more like impressions. Scars left by dead people. All their pain and hatred, drifting through the world without intent.”

“Until you,” spat Merlin, flinching as one brushed past his side, and a decaying sense of _wrong_ sank into his bones.

“Until me,” agreed Mordred, reaching out to caress one of the invisible shadows.

Morgana tried to back away, confused and terrified, and was enveloped by one of the creatures. She let out a strangled cry and doubled over, clawing at her skin.

“Arthur!” she choked out, and her cousin reached into the darkness and yanked her towards him, wincing at the heartsick nausea that stole through his body. He pulled her into his arms and held her close.

“Please Arthur,” she said, shaking her head. “What is happening?”

Arthur glared around him, trying to find a break in the ranks of the shadows, but they were impossible to see.

“Be strong, Morgana,” he said, squeezing her reassuringly. “We’ll make it out.”

She stared at him, then nodded, visibly stealing herself, and gulping to stop herself from vomiting. “You are explaining everything the _second_ we get free,” she hissed.

Arthur shot her a quick smile.

“You certainly deserve that much,” he agreed.

“What did he mean? He made it sound like I was a monster.”

“You are the strongest, kindest and most courageous woman I know,” said Arthur, firmly. “The rest is incidental. Remember that, when you find out the truth.”

Morgana took in her cousin with a sharp glance, and nodded. The world may be shifting on its axis, but he had always been the one thing she could rely on. She squared her shoulders, and stepped away from him, peering into the invisible barrier of past loathing and determinedly swallowed down her fear.

“So, Merlin’s a wizard then,” she said, voice purposefully casual. Arthur snorted.

“Best not to question it,” he said. “But if anyone can get us out of this, he can.”

She nodded, clenching her fists, but in preparation for what, she had no idea.

Merlin, meanwhile, was curling his magic into tight ribbons, whipping them out at the incorporeal creatures, but it only pushed them back for a moment before they pressed forward again. Merlin was sweating with the effort of keeping them away from the three of them, and Mordred laughed.

Merlin snapped his head to glare at him.

“I may not be able to destroy _them_ ,” he bit out, “but you are less of a challenge.” He whipped out a line of red fire, sending it shooting towards Mordred, who leapt to the side to avoid it. In that moment of lapsed concentration, the creatures advanced, and Arthur groaned as one reached him before Merlin could push them all back.

“And there it is,” sneered Mordred. “The righteous fury of the Great Sorcerer. Destroy that which offends you. Tell me, do you enjoy playing God?” A blue flame erupted from Mordred’s hand, and Merlin blocked it, swearing as his hold on the creatures wavered.

“I never tried to be a god,” he spat.

Mordred rolled his eyes. He murmured a quiet word and Arthur abruptly doubled over in pain, groaning.

“Arthur!” Morgana, exclaimed, grabbing his shoulders. “Let him go!” she screeched at Mordred, who smiled.

“That’s more like the Morgana I remember,” he quipped. “Furious and irrational.”

She screeched, running for him with fists clenched, but he flicked a hand at her and she flew backwards, right into the swarm of dead feelings. As she landed, all the colour drained from her face and she vomited, grasping her stomach and then her head as sickening cold invaded every part of her body.

Merlin gathered a mighty whip of energy and flicked it to surround her, forcing the creatures away.

“Morgana!” he grunted. “You’re too far away, come closer!”

Morgana tentatively edged forward, marvelling at the feeling of the fierce power protecting her. Merlin flicked his other hand, banishing the curse attacking Arthur and the other man sagged, gasping.

But where was Mordred? Merlin had lost sight of him. He whipped his head around, searching.

“Merlin!” screeched Morgana, and a sharp pain seared through his lower back, digging into his stomach. Merlin let out a strangled noise and Morgana rushed towards him, steadying him as Mordred shoved him forward, a long dagger slipping from his back as he fell.

“Don’t die too quickly now,” cajoled Mordred, grinning. His eyes lit up as he began a very familiar incantation, and Merlin stared in disbelief.

“No!” he gasped, recognising his own words. Mordred raised his hand to point at Merlin and the wizard quickly erected a shield, losing his hold on the creatures completely. Arthur gagged as they closed in on him, clutching his sides and cringing in agony.

Mordred finished and the familiar blue light shot forward, passing straight through Merlin’s shield. He stared, helpless, and Morgana shoved him out of the way at the last second, throwing herself backwards to avoid the light.

“Leave him, you cretin!” she yelled. Mordred ignored her, and one of the ghostly creatures glided close, sinking under her skin. She grit her teeth, choking as tears flowed down her cheeks.

Mordred glowered at Merlin, irritated and obviously feeling drained. Merlin’s eyes widened in sudden hope.

Mordred did not have his power. He would wear himself into the ground with that spell, if Merlin could just keep dodging. The warlock gathered his strength, pale and shaking.

Mordred looked sour, obviously realising the same thing. Even his hold on the hate-creatures was waning, and a number of them had started drifting off into the void. Then his eyes lit on a spot just over Merlin’s shoulder and he grinned triumphantly. Merlin followed his gaze, and felt ice claw its way into his stomach. Arthur was on his knees, shaking his head, trying to gather his wits but still in the grip of one of the creatures.

Mordred smiled and began the incantation again, this time pointing at the fallen king.

“Arthur,” gasped Merlin, scrabbling to push him out of the way, but he was too slow, he knew it. He would fail.

With the very last of his strength, he threw himself in front of Arthur, perfectly timing his leap for the moment another flash of blue lit up the alley, just as Mordred knew he would.

The spell sank into his chest and his magic raged, drawing in and scratching at his insides to force the foreign magic out. Merlin screamed, and Mordred’s hold on the hate-ghosts was shattered. Arthur and Morgana fell forward. Morgana stared on in horror as her friend contorted, enveloped in a suffocating cocoon of blue and purple.

Arthur saw Merlin suspended as Morgana had once been, and felt his entire world splinter, digging great shards into his brain. He let out an inhuman noise and he threw himself forward, trying to pull Merlin from the maelstrom, but the light burned his hands and threw him back to slam into the street.

“Oh, enough,” said a sickeningly calm voice. Mordred glared at the frenzied king on the ground and scowled. “He’ll still be reborn. He might even be _happy_ ,” he sneered. “If it’s good enough for Morgana, it should be good enough for – _eck_!”

Mordred’s words abruptly cut off and he arched back, blinking in disbelief as Morgana pulled his own discarded dagger from his back.

“He was _family_ ,” she choked out, and stabbed him again, right through the spinal cord. Mordred collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut, and Morgana looked at her blood-soaked hands, trembling.

The light finally receded from Merlin, and he fell to the ground, gasping.

“That… was not how this… was supposed to go,” whispered Merlin, tears leaking from his eyes.

Arthur choked, crawling forward and pulling Merlin’s prone form into his lap.

“You can reverse it!” he said, desperately. “You won’t lose the magic or the memories until you die. There’s still time!”

“Don’t think I can,” said Merlin, eyes beginning to lose focus.

“Don’t give me that!” screamed Arthur. “You’re the only one who can do it! Reverse it!”

Merlin’s eyes scrunched up and he tried desperately to think of the counter curse. He was sure there was one; there had to be. But the words kept dancing away from him, and his limbs were getting heavy.

“Don’t you dare!” bellowed Arthur. “Don’t you go, don’t do it! You won’t come back!”

“I’ll be back,” whispered Merlin.

“You won’t remember me!”

Merlin’s head lolled to the side, and Arthur grabbed either side of his face.

“No, please!” he said, frantically shaking him a little. “I can’t lose you. I can’t do this without you!”

Merlin cracked his eyes open. He blinked. “Then find me again,” he said softly.

“You won’t remember,” said Arthur.

“Do it anyway,” insisted Merlin. “Please. Without you…  it’s forever… don’t leave me alone…”

“Okay,” said Arthur, rubbing away Merlin’s tears with his thumb. “I promise. I’ll find you. Wherever you are, I’ll find you.”

Merlin watched him through rapidly dulling eyes and was struck with a memory from that morning, after Arthur hid the iron and Morgana told them of Agnes’s scandalous ideas. That same strange image of Arthur and himself, not just friends and colleagues but together in every way, floated across his vision, and he felt suddenly bereft at the idea that he’d never know what Arthur would say. He forced his lips open, dragging in a breath.

Arthur noticed, and leant down to listen. Merlin gave a short, rattling gasp, mouth fumbling around words too quiet to hear. Arthur shook his head.

“Merlin, what? Say that again, I can’t hear…” he leant back to look at him, and froze. Merlin’s eyes were unseeing, his expression slack.

“But… no!” said Arthur, taking him by the shoulders. “What were you going to say?” He shook him frantically. “Merlin! You idiot! _What were you going to say_?”

“Arthur,” said Morgana, voice choked with tears. “He’s gone.”

“But he wanted to tell me something,” he raged. “He has to tell me. It _has_ to be now. Or he’ll forget!”

“Arthur,” murmured Morgana.

“He’ll forget me,” whispered Arthur. “All of it. He’ll forget.”

He stared at the slack face in his lap, feeling his mind cloud over with horror and disbelief.

Morgana looped her arms around his shoulders. “You’ll find him again,” she said, firmly. Arthur blinked at her, surprised and momentarily distracted, and she sighed.

“Rebirth, magic, not that hard to follow.” She stared at the empty face in Arthur’s lap. “Merlin will be like me.” A tear escaped the corner of her eye.

“… I’m sorry, Morgana.”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll find him, just like you did me.”

“You’re always family,” said Arthur dully. “I have no idea where he’ll be.”

“Then you’ll search,” she said, decisively. Arthur stared at the broken body below him. He ran a hand over the pale cheek.

Morgana placed a consoling hand over his.

“We need to go,” she said, softly, and he closed his eyes. “We need to let the police know what’s happened.”

He nodded, allowing himself one last lingering look, and then squared his shoulders and lowered Merlin’s body to the ground.

“Time to go,” he said.

 

* * *

 

Merlin rubbed a hand over his chest, trying to drive out the discomfort.

“Fuck,” he whimpered. “It’s like my blood’s being turned to cement.”

“It will pass once the shackles come off,” reassured Arthur, trying not to wince.

Merlin ran his fingers over the bizarre metal. “Why is she doing this, Arthur?” he demanded.

Arthur shrugged helplessly. “I told you. Bad memories. Before we wiped her she was a monster.”

“But she’s not,” protested Merlin. “She’s good. Knowing who she used to be shouldn’t change that.”

“There’s a difference between knowing what happened to you and remembering it.”

Merlin glanced at him, but he was staring at a wall.

“Knowledge of the past can scare you, it can even haunt you, but it can’t scream through your every waking moment.”

 

* * *

 

Arthur did not last long after Mordred’s attack and Merlin’s agonising exit from his life. Depression weighed heavily on his heart, made all the worse by the knowledge of his own impotence. He would not find Merlin again in this life; he knew that. Even if they were to miraculously cross paths, he knew of no one who had the power to bring back his old friend.

Morgana watched her cousin slip away, slowly but surely, and tried not to let it drive her to despair. Arthur had told her as much as he was willing, of their old identities, her betrayal and the war, the many lives that followed and Merlin’s decision to wipe her clean once and for all.

“It wasn’t to save me,” Morgana had said when Arthur told her. “It was to stop me.”

“Yes,” agreed Arthur, listlessly. “Mordred was right. How else do you stop a tyrant when death is not the end?”

“You reduce them to something powerless.”

Arthur shook his head. “You were never powerless, Morgana, even without magic. We just needed to change how you used that power.”

“By keeping me on your side.”

“By making you happy,” corrected Arthur.

“Our entire lives, everything you said to me, everything we did,” said Morgana, lips tight. “It was all so I wouldn’t turn evil.”

“That’s not why I did it.”

“Then why?” demanded Morgana, angrily.

Arthur sighed. “We’ve all lived so many lives, Morgana,” he said, sounding tired. “When you were first wiped, all we wanted to do was stop you hurting anyone else. But then we saw how you were growing, who you were growing into, and then keeping you happy wasn’t about protecting others, it was about you.”

He rubbed his temples, wearily. “You weren’t born evil in Camelot, Morgana. Suffering changed you. We took that away, and you were that girl again. You were someone who deserved love and protection.”

Morgana watched him thoughtfully.

“You aren’t scared I’ll turn into that monster again?” she asked.

Arthur shook his head. “I haven’t seen you as her in a very long time. You’re a new person – a better one – and your past can’t change that.”

Morgana frowned, still feeling conflicted, but felt a small twinge of satisfaction.

“But what if it does go wrong?” she asked, tentatively. “What if I still go bad?”

“I’ll save you,” said Arthur, determinedly. “Whatever it takes.”

Morgana clenched her fists, not wanting to know what Arthur might mean by ‘saving’ her.

Over the next decade, Arthur lost himself in his many causes, throwing all he had into whatever altruistic pursuits might distract him from his own depression. Morgana and he drifted apart, unable to reconcile the chasm of loss, confusion and anticipation that had carved its way between them. Morgana never could decide her feelings on his manipulations of her memories. She had always thought of the mind as sacrosanct, but wasn’t it better to be free of the murderous insanity of Morgan le Fay? But _was_ it insanity? She had only Arthur’s word that she was really so far gone that this was necessary.

Arthur may very well have saved her from hell, but he had also obliterated her trust.

It was only a few years into the twentieth century when Arthur found himself stabbed and bleeding on a darkened road, having stepped on one too many very powerful toes. He was found and taken to a hospital, but not even their best efforts could save him from the infection raging through his body.

He was sweating and swearing to himself when Morgana came to see him.

“You have a talent for making the worst enemies, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur looked at her in surprise, eyes a little dazed.

“That hasn’t been my name in a long time.”

“I’ve been doing my research,” she said, pulling up a chair and sitting by his bed.

“Did you find anything interesting?”

“A vexing amount of inconsistency in the legend.”

Arthur smiled ruefully. “We really should have invested in a decent scribe.”

“Some of them say…” began Morgana, lips pulling a little tight in discomfort.

“Yes?”

“They say that Mordred was my son, and that you…”

Arthur shook his head, emphatically.

“No! God, no! Oh _hell_ , my head…”

He blinked, panting as his flush went from salmon to beetroot. “Mordred was one of the druids. Totally unrelated. I don’t even know if you _ever_ … it never really came up.”

Morgana couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, that’s a relief, at least.”

Arthur smiled, but his attention was beginning to waver. Morgana felt tears pricking at your eyes.

“I won’t know who you are, next time we meet.”

Arthur forced himself to focus on her.

“I’ll be there,” he assured. “I’ll be family. I’ll keep you safe like I always have.”

“And happy?”

“With all the happiness you deserve, my lady.”

His words were beginning to slur. She swallowed back her sadness.

“I’ll see you soon, Arthur,” she said, leaning forward. “You’ll find him again, I know it.”

His shallow breaths were slowing. His eyes were drifting closed.

She stood and pressed her face close to his.

“If you do find away to undo it, to bring him back,” she whispered, needing him to understand this, “don’t ever do it to me.”

He blinked at her softly, and she pressed her lips to his forehead.

“I don’t want to be her.”

Arthur watched her, and gave a barely noticeable nod. Then his eyes fell closed and his breathing stopped.

Morgana’s breath hitched in grief, and she took a moment to hold his face in her hands. The chasm of a future without the only one who knew her secret yawned before her, and she felt a weight settle inside her chest. Finally, she collected herself and stood straight, squaring her shoulders. She took one last look at her fallen cousin and then strode out of the room, ready to make as much as she could of this life before she forgot it all.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry,” choked out Merlin, pressing his forehead into his knees, and shaking. “I can’t… I’m sorry.”

“Gods, Merlin. What for?”

Merlin let out a manic giggle. “You keep saying I’m this super powerful wizard. I must have been a hell of a friend. And useful too. But now I just want to claw all this _stuff_ out of me and hide.” He compulsively rubbed his head against his knees. “Meeting me must have been a real disappointment.”

“Fuck, Merlin, _no_. Don’t you ever think that,” said Arthur, yanking at his shackles to get closer and reopening the skin for his efforts.

Merlin was shivering, feeling more ill by the moment. “You know, we were talking classic horror when you came into the coffee shop. Morgana and me. Dracula versus Frankenstein. Kind of ironic, really,” he grinned without humour. “The witch and the warlock, arguing over who’s the better monster.”

“You’re not a monster, Merlin.”

“I don’t know what I am,” he sniffed, looking away. “I don’t think you do either. I think you see what you want to.”

“What does that mean?”

“You looked so shocked when you met me,” lamented Merlin. “Like your whole world shifted. A few weeks later we were spending all our time together.” Merlin frowned, tears leaking down his face. “But you weren’t really seeing me.”

“Of course I saw you,” said Arthur, angrily, but Merlin shook his head.

“No,” he insisted. “You saw a dead man. That’s why you kept giving me those books. You wanted to turn me back into him.”

“Merlin, he is you.”

“He’s not,” said Merlin, stubbornly. “Experiences shape us. They determine how we think about things. If I get back all those memories, I’ll be a different person.” He couldn’t look at Arthur. Couldn’t stand to see his hope for exactly that outcome. “The second I remember, this version of me dies.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur sounded pained, but Merlin took no pity.

“Is that why you were so scared when I kissed you? Did it feel like cheating, knowing I wasn’t who I looked like?”

“Merlin, that’s not… you and I weren’t together. Before.”

Merlin looked up in earnest surprise. “What?”

“We were just friends,” insisted Arthur, and Merlin watched him in confusion.

“But you’re attracted to me,” said Merlin, trying to sort this out in his head.

“Obviously,” said Arthur, looking irritated.

“Are you saying… that’s new? You never… _felt_ … this, in all those years?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know!” said Arthur, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Maybe. I sort of thought about it a few times, but we worked so well as friends, I didn’t want to bring it up. And you never showed an interest.”

“So you took a crack at the blank slate?” asked Merlin, voice rising in pitch.

“ _No_!” exclaimed Arthur. “Gods, no! It wasn’t like that.”

“You sure? Because I reckon I make a pretty excellent likeness of what you really wanted for your shag-toy.”

“ _Fuck_ , Merlin!” said Arthur, horrified. “I _told_ you what I was feeling when I came to you! I ran when you kissed me, because the old you never wanted me like that, and I was terrified I was taking advantage.”

“And weren’t you?”

“No!” said Arthur firmly. “Because I realised that the old you wasn’t the one in the driver’s seat. _You_ were. And you were the one I fell for. You were the one that made me want to tear off all your clothes and fuck the both of us into oblivion.” He dragged his hand through his dirty hair. “I thought, if you really wanted me, then that was okay. I could fall in love and it wouldn’t be the wrong thing. God… _fuck_ … maybe I was wrong.”

He looked up to a strangely silent Merlin, expression desperate. “Was I wrong?”

Merlin merely blinked at him. And then –

“You love me?”

Arthur froze, mouth hanging open for a moment, before he snapped it shut and looked away.  
“I shouldn’t… I didn’t mean…”

“Arthur,” cut off Merlin. “Do you love me?”

Arthur closed his eyes, then opened them, looking determinedly at Merlin.

“Yes,” he said, and Merlin, despite his better judgement, felt warmth blossom in his stomach. He took a moment to appreciate the feeling, and then asked the obvious, frightening question.

“But you love him too?”

Arthur paused. “He was my best friend.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“We weren’t together.”

“And that’s not what I asked.”

Arthur paused, rubbing his brow.

“Does it matter?” he said, his voice very small. “He’s gone.”

Merlin blew out a sharp breath. “You’re still in love with him.”

“I’m in love with you.”

He closed his eyes. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“Merlin…”

“If you had a choice,” said Merlin sharply, “if you could give me back my memories, or keep me as I am, what would you choose?”

He stared at Arthur, pleadingly, but Arthur could find no words, mouth opening and closing as he desperately searched for the right answer.

Merlin felt his heart sink into his stomach, and he nodded, turning away. “Well, it looks like you’re going to get your wish,” he said bitterly. “Any minute now that lot are going to march in here and swap out my brain for the classic model.” He curled up on the floor, facing the wall, and Arthur’s heart broke.

“ _Please_ , Merlin,” said Arthur. “I love _you_.”

“You’d love me more with some improvements,” retorted Merlin, digging his nails into his arms.

His voice became very quiet. “I wonder if it’ll hurt.”

Arthur felt protective anger blossom in his chest.

“I said I’d protect you.”

“Yeah,” said Merlin, with a humourless laugh. “You did. But which me did you mean?”

Arthur tried to give a reply, _any_ reply, but before he could find the words, a muted click came from the heavy door, and the handle began to turn.

Their captors had finally come.

 

* * *

 

 Arthur woke feeling pleasantly warm and entirely relaxed in his soft bed. For a moment, he wondered what had woken him, then he felt an idle finger tracing soft words across his abdomen. He opened his eyes to gaze at his bedfellow.

“What are you writing?” he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep. Merlin continued on, unperterbed at his fresh wakefulness.

“William Blake,” he said, not looking away from Arthur’s skin. “ _To see a world in a grain of sand, And heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour_.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s _The Auguries of Innocence_ ,” said Merlin, pulling himself up to lay his head on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur smiled, wrapping an arm around him. “It’s a series of couplets gathered together about perspective and the interconnectedness of joy and pain,” he continued, sounding very relaxed. “Those lines always make me think of you.”

Arthur smiled. “You think I’m infinite?”

“I think there’s always more to know,” said Merlin, his hand returning to trace looping words over Arthur’s skin. “There’s a whole world in you, full of things I haven’t seen yet.” He smiled, leaning down to brush his lips over Arthur’s nipple. “And I never want to stop looking.”

Arthur’s breath caught, both at the words and at the sudden flush of arousal driving away his fatigue. He pulled himself up to rest on his elbow and curled one hand around Merlin’s neck, pulling him in for a possessive kiss. Merlin smiled, dancing his tongue out to taste Arthur’s lips, and Arthur moaned, looping his arm over Merlin’s side and rolling him onto his back. Merlin’s leg wrapped itself over Arthur’s back and from below the man arched up, dragging his exposed arousal over Arthur’s skin. Arthur growled, letting his own leg press between Merlin’s and threading his hand in Merlin’s hair. With a gentle pull that nonetheless boasted absolute authority, he forced the younger man to tilt his head back, exposing the long column of his throat.

Arthur descended, kissing a wanton trail from the skin behind Merlin’s ear down to the flickering pulse point, and then to the small cluster of nerves near the collarbone that always left Merlin gasping. Beneath him, Merlin writhed with undisguised pleasure, releasing a flurry of breathy moans and whispered curses that left Arthur so hard it was nearly painful. He grinded slowly over Merlin’s leg, unable to resist the friction, and softly nipped at the sensitive skin, feeling Merlin’s cock twitch in response.

Grinning, Arthur released Merlin’s hair and began kissing down his chest, stopping briefly to tease his nipples. Merlin’s hands slid over Arthur’s scalp, wanting to pull him closer but also not wanting him to halt his ministrations. Arthur’s attention moved south, reaching a particularly sensitive spot on Merlin’s hip that tore a strangled curse from the man as he forced himself not to buck forwards. Arthur grinned, nibbling down to Merlin’s inner thigh before finally coming to Merlin’s painfully erect cock. He flicked his eyes upwards, making sure that Merlin was looking at him, and then slid his lips around the hard length. Merlin’s head threw back in pleasure, and Arthur stopped, refusing to move until Merlin’s eyes met his once more. Then he flicked his tongue around the head and began to move, bobbing his head and never once breaking eye contact. Merlin watched him in equal parts awe and ecstasy, lips swollen and shiny. When Arthur finally felt Merlin start to twitch and tense, he lifted his head from Merlin’s cock and ghosted a breath over the the skin of his abdomen, curling a tight fist around his cock and biting into his hip.

Merlin let out a strangled cry and shuddered, spilling over Arthur’s hand and chest. His back arched, and Arthur felt the smooth planes of Merlin’s stomach and thighs pressed up against him. After a long, shining moment, Merlin collapsed, the tension draining from his body as he panted. When he finally collected himself enough to focus on Arthur, he found himself staring at an unbearably smug grin.

“Bastard,” he said, and Arthur laughed merrily as Merlin dragged him up to meet his lips in a bruising kiss. Arthur felt a hand on his shoulder pushing him onto his back and he let Merlin tumble him backwards. Merlin, as usual, was gentle and almost blindingly intimate with every move he made. He draped himself over Arthur, running a hand over Arthur’s torso and lovingly tracing the backs of his nails over his sternum, up his neck and into his hair. Arthur let out a low, tortured moan and Merlin grinned, trailing his hand back down to rest on Arthur’s hip. Arthur let out a small grunt of frustration, but Merlin ignored him, leaning forward to rest his head in the crook of Arthur’s neck. He took a deep breath, letting the scent of _Arthur_ fill his senses, and ran the tip of his nose from Arthur’s shoulder, along his neck, to the corner of his jaw. Arthur shivered.

Merlin wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s hard shaft and gave a quick pull, surprising Arthur into a sharp jolt beneath him. Merlin absorbed the movement and nuzzled closer to Arthur’s ear, giving several more firm tugs that had Arthur gasping. As Merlin felt the tension build, he pulled himself so his lips just barely touched the shell of Arthur’s ear, and whispered “ _Mine_ ”, just as he gave a particularly firm jerk of his hand.

Arthur’s eyes blew wide and he went absolutely rigid, pleasure coursing through his taught muscles. He held Merlin to him so tightly that the smaller man thought he might be crushed. Merlin, blushing to himself, was surprisingly okay with the idea. At long, long last, Arthur finally relaxed, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

“You’ll be the death of me, you will,” said Arthur, running a hand over Merlin’s jaw and gazing on in unmistakeable adoration. Merlin smiled and brushed a soft kiss across his lips.

“ _Eternity in an hour_ ,” said Merlin softly, and Arthur smiled.

Their afterglow was interrupted by the chirping ring of Arthur’s mobile, and Merlin pursed his lips in irritation. Arthur chuckled.

“Sorry,” he said, rummaging for the phone. “I should see who it is.”

He checked the caller ID and his eyes narrowed.

“What do you want, Gwaine?” he snapped as he answered.

“Oh, no way,” came the reply. “There is no possible way I just interrupted you mid-shag. You two wankers have barely left each other’s beds in a month! How can you still be going? Shouldn’t they have dropped off by now?”

“Fuck off, Gwaine. Our pricks are perfectly healthy.”

Merlin looked at him in amusement, but he waved him off.

“So I presume you called for a reason, and not just so you can air your jealousy over our _extremely fulfilling_ sex life?”

“Easy there, Princess. I can smell your testosterone from here.”

“ _Gwaine_.”

“Fine, fine. Percival’s moving and he needs help getting the furniture into his new apartment. There’s beer and pizza in it for you. You in?”

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who was listening over his shoulder, and tossed him a _What-do-you-think?_ look. Merlin shrugged and nodded, searching around for something to wipe himself down with.

“We’ll be there at lunch time,” said Arthur, and hung up before Gwaine could get in any more comments about his and Merlin’s shag-a-thon.

“I’m going to go have a shower,” said Merlin, dropping a kiss on Arthur’s nose and striding out of the room, still very naked.

Arthur grinned, watching the man’s impressive saunter. Once Merlin was out of the room, Arthur picked up the phone again. It was about time he checked up on Morgana; They hadn’t spoken in days and that was the longest he’d gone without checking on her in a long time.

He dialled the number and brought the phone to his ear, waiting. The call rang out. Frowning, he tried again, but received no answer. He waited ten minutes, in case she was in the shower, before calling a third time, but there was still nothing.

By the time Merlin emerged from the shower, Arthur was glaring at his phone, worriedly.

“Everything okay?” asked Merlin, pulling on boxer shorts.

“Morgana’s not answering her phone,” replied Arthur.

“That’s not like her.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Merlin pursed his lips. “There’s plenty of reasons she might not pick up. Don’t panic yet.”

Arthur nodded, still looking wary. Merlin tossed him a towel.

“Look,” he said. “Quickly clean yourself up and we can swing by her apartment on the way to Percy’s.”

“Right,” said Arthur, nodding.

Twelve and a half minutes later, the two of them trudged to the car, swiftly getting in and driving to a squat complex of apartments. They made their way up the stairs to number twelve and knocked, listening for any movement.

“Morgana?” called Arthur. “It’s me and Merlin.”

A soft rustle could be heard from inside, and the lock on the door clicked. Arthur glanced at Merlin in confusion when the occupant didn’t open the door, and instead opened it himself.

“Morgana, are you okay?” Arthur asked the darkened room. There was no answer, so he and Merlin picked their way forward warily, peering into the shadows.

The door shut behind them and Merlin whirled around. Arthur’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Morgana, what’s going on?” he asked, voice turning dangerous.

“Oh, Morgana is fine, sire, I assure you.”

Merlin and Arthur turned to a dimly lit corner of the room, which now held an imposing-looking blonde woman with a smile like a dagger.

Arthur recognised her immediately, and his jaw dropped. Merlin did not, but something about her voice and her contemptuous look sent shivers down his spine.

“Where is Morgana?” Arthur snarled, pulling Merlin behind him. Morgause smirked, glancing meaningfully over his shoulder.

“Hello, brother dear,” came a silky voice from behind them. Arthur whirled around, feeling his heart sink all the way to his knees.

He had not heard that tone in a very, _very_ long time.  
The woman standing in the kitchen looked every inch the lively, pleasant woman they both loved, but there was something intangible about the way she stood, the way she looked at them, that set Merlin’s teeth on edge.

“Morgana?” ventured Merlin, hesitantly. The woman’s eyes snapped to him, calculating and unpleasant, and he flinched.

“Merlin,” she said, and the name was like a caress, before her eyes flashed gold and he was blown off his feet, slamming into the wall beyond with a sharp crack.

Arthur’s despair morphed into rage and he tried to dart to Merlin’s side, _needing_ to check that he was alive, but he had barely made it halfway when the same force picked him up and blasted him towards the bookshelf. His last thought before the impact knocked him unconscious was that Morgana looked older than she had in centuries.


	5. Chapter 5

The soft sound of the door unlocking filled the room like a gunshot. Merlin stared at the door, fists clenching as he sought to compose himself. Ever so slowly, the door swung inwards.

Beyond it was revealed imperious-looking woman, swathed in a dress sewn from tattered silver and crimson fabric. Her hair tumbled down her back in a cascade of blonde that seemed far too light for her skin, and her face was screwed up in an expression of utter disdain.

Merlin took in the vision of the murderess before them, and let out a bark of incredulous laughter.

“Seriously?” he said, a little hysterical. Blood was pounding in his ears but his mind had apparently forgone its very rational fear in favour of disbelief at their ridiculous situation.

The woman’s icy eyes cut across to him and the room dimmed ever so slightly, but Merlin was beyond restraint now.

“Oh come on, you look like a cyborg flower-child!”

Despite himself, Arthur snorted loudly. Morgause raised an eyebrow at him, and he stilled, lifting his chin in challenge.

Merlin was rubbing his neck in an attempt to hold himself together. “God, I’m going to be killed by Data’s hippie granddaughter,” he moaned.

“Merlin,” said Arthur, warningly.

“Listen to your prince, boy,” said Morgause. Her voice was smooth but seemed perpetually tinged with the melodramatic.

“Or what, you’ll throw a damn spell at me?” snapped Merlin, ignoring the clamouring warning bells in his head.

Morgause cocked her head at him, assessing.

“So it is true,” she said, curiously. “He really never told you before now.”

“About how he’s King Arthur?” said Merlin, shaking his head with wide eyes. “It never came up.”

“You were once the most powerful warlock of all time,” she said, watching him hungrily. “That seems like a dangerous secret to keep.”

“Arthur’s good at that,” said a new voice. Merlin and Arthur turned to stare at the open doorway. What Merlin saw made his stomach shrivel and sink to his knees.

It was Morgana. It was obviously Morgana – her face and body hadn’t changed – but the way she was looking at the two prisoners spoke of such deep hatred that she was barely recognisable. She was clad in the same smart pantsuit she had worn to her law firm days ago, but it seemed somehow shabbier, hanging off her with none of the elegant menace it usually boasted. She was not dirty per se, or even roughed up, but there was something in her movements and expression that spoke of sharp edges and broken lines.

“Morgana?” said Merlin, tentatively. “Are you alright?”

“That’s not Morgana,” said Arthur, firmly.

Morgana smiled at the two of them, and Merlin’s heart clenched.

“Oh, of course not, brother dear,” she said, voice dripping with disdain. “If I was the same person you might actually have to acknowledge what you did to your favourite sister. Separating we two must be very convenient for you.” She sauntered further into the room, eyes gliding to rest on Merlin’s tense form. “I notice Merlin didn’t get the same treatment.”

“Morgana, what’s happened to you?” asked Merlin, subconsciously reaching a hand towards her. A sharp glare froze him in place, and he retreated.

“Don’t presume to speak to me as a friend, _Emrys_ ,” she said. “You cost me my home, my life, and then my _mind_.”

“But I didn’t!” protested Merlin. “For God’s sake Morgana, we’re friends!”

“We are not,” she said. “The creature you knew was a fiction. I remember _everything_ now.”

Merlin should his head.

“This isn’t you. It can’t be. This is insane! It can’t be real!”  
Morgause leaned forward to assess him, amused.

“It seems you’ve done a very poor job explaining things, Arthur,” she said. “He still doesn’t truly believe.”

“He shouldn’t have to,” snapped Arthur. “He was fine being normal. He wasn’t a threat to anyone.”

“He’s not here because he’s a threat,” said Morgause, sneering. She stepped forward, leaning into Merlin’s space. Merlin leaned back instinctively, and her features softened.

“You really are a harmless puppy, aren’t you?” she said, sounding almost affectionate. She smiled at him. “You’re right, of course. All of this is impossible. The world doesn’t believe it, so how could it be true?”

Merlin watched her warily. She reached out a hand and rested it on his bare arm, as a mother would to a panicking child.

“What are you doing?” demanded Arthur from across the room, but the two ladies ignored him.

“This harrowing story of ours is beyond the realm of credulity. Am I right, Merlin?” she cooed. Merlin wanted to move away, but her grip was unyielding and her brown eyes were fixed upon his own. He swallowed, staring at her in wary fascination.

Where her palm met his arm, he felt the skin begin to warm. He looked down at it in confusion, trying to find the source of the heat, but her hand was bare. She watched him idly, a soft smile gracing her features. The heat began to build, and Merlin took a sharp breath in.

“Stop,” he said, anxiety building. “Stop it, please.”

“Such good manners,” she said, her smile widening. The heat increased, and Merlin tried to squirm out of her grip, but her fingers tightened. He tried to bat her hand away, but as he went to lift his hands the cuffs dug painfully in the skin. He looked down and saw that somehow the chains had shortened and he was now pinned by his wrists.

His arm was burning now, as though she was holding hot metal to the skin, and it was getting worse.

“Get off!” he shouted, gasping as the skin began to blister.

“Get away from him!” shouted Arthur furiously, but Morgause’s gentle expression didn’t falter.

“We have missed you, Emrys,” she said, and laugh lines cut from the corners of her eyes.

Her hand clenched and the scorching heat grew so intense that the skin beneath her fingers began to smoke. Merlin screamed and wrenched himself back, howling as Morgause held him in place. He felt blackness pulling at the edges of his vision. Finally, the witch drew her hand away and he threw himself back, only to be dragged down by his wrists and crash heavily to the floor.

“Merlin!” bellowed Arthur, wrists bleeding profusely as he wrenched at the restraints. Merlin lay in place, gasping for air and trying to think past the blinding pain in his arm. He blinked tear-filled eyes at the wounded appendage and saw an angry red handprint branded into the skin. The smell reached his nostrils and he gagged.

“Do you believe in magic now, boy?” asked Morgause, sternly. Merlin blinked up at her, dazed and whimpering.

“Leave him alone!” demanded Arthur. “Merlin, please, answer me! Merlin!”

Merlin opened his mouth to answer, but could not find his voice. Instead he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, trying to gain control over himself. He was beginning to feel a little fuzzy, and he knew that if his body slipped into shock they’d have even less chance of getting out safely.

“So weak,” mused Morgause, standing over him now. “It seems impossible that you were the one protecting Camelot for all those years. _You_ were the reason our plans kept failing.”

“He brought magic back,” spat Arthur, his entire body rigid. “He protected your people and gave them a home, even after everything you did.”

“He showed mercy when it was convenient,” sneered Morgause. “It was his destiny to save us all, but he would rather protect his golden puppet-prince than use his magic to save his own kind.”

“You are _not_ his kind,” Arthur growled, and Morgause turned to him. “Merlin was ready to die to protect his people. You killed to subjugate them.” He shot a glance to his prone boyfriend, whose eyes were screwed tightly shut. “Let him go, Morgause. Those days are long gone. Your revenge is pointless. If you need someone to suffer your rage, choose someone who actually remembers.”

He straightened his spine in challenge, chains dangling loosely from his wrists. Morgause watched him in amused curiosity.

“Fascinating. I had noticed in your first life that you were strangely attached to the boy, but I must say, I never foresaw this.”

She leant over Merlin’s sweaty form. “He is your _lover_ ,” she breathed, gently brushing the hair out of his eyes. Merlin shuddered.

“Leave him alone,” snarled Arthur, and Morgause smirked.

“This was always your problem, Arthur Pendragon. You let the whole world see your heart. It makes it awfully easy to harness.”

She raked her fingernails down Merlin’s arm and scratched into the ugly burn. Merlin jerked, screaming in pain as her fingers came away bloody. Arthur launched himself forward and bit back an agonised cry as the cuffs tore further into his flesh. Merlin bit his lip, forcing his eyes open to glare at her.

“Ah, _there_ you are, Emrys,” she said, glowing with satisfaction.

Arthur glowered at her in rage and hatred.

“If you hate us so much then why wait til now to come after us?”

Morgause straightened and turned to him, looking disdainful.

“It seems not all of us were important enough to merit a constant space aboveground.”

Arthur frowned. “What?”

“I didn’t return to the world before now.”

“But… why?”

Morgause shot him an unimpressed look. “Who knows how the fates decide who to hold on to?”

“And out of nowhere they want you back now?” Arthur sounded dubious. Morgause cracked a small smile. “I’m afraid the fates had little to do with that.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Morgana shuffled from her position by Morgause.

“Mordred,” she said simply, and every nerve in Arthur’s body fizzed with rage.

“What has he done?” he asked, his voice low and very, very dangerous.

Morgause laughed. “Yes, he did say you’d have that reaction. He told me what he did to Merlin.” She turned to gaze at the prone man, cocking her head with a grin. “Pure artistry, that kind of soul magic. Though of course, not impossible to undo.” She looked across to her sister and ran a hand down her cheek, affectionately. Morgana leaned into the touch, her eyes both loving and manic.

Arthur watched the broken woman with sorrow and wariness. He could see blood dripping from Morgana’s palms, where she had dug her fingernails hard into the flesh. Whatever Morgause had hoped to retrieve from her sister’s lost memory, she had found something far darker and more brittle. Something that should never have been brought back into the light. He felt tears collecting at the corners of his eyes as he watched the woman he loved more than his own life sink back into her sister’s clawing hold, completely lost.

“So Mordred brought you back then,” said Arthur, forcing his eyes from Morgana’s face.

Morgause nodded. “The only man in the world more practised in soul magic than you two,” she said, happily gliding in his direction. “Poor boy found a way to resurrect a soul in a rejuvenated body.”

“But why?” asked Arthur, confused. “Last we met, he wanted all of us wiped.”

“Indeed,” she said, sighing softly. “But he was happy enough with just Merlin destroyed, since the warlock was very much your driving power. After your little run-in in London he actually relaxed. As I understand it, his next life was built on comfort and luxury. And then he met a woman.”

Morgause shook her head disparagingly. “One would think you people would learn: It’s always the romance that leads to your downfall.”

Arthur forced himself not to look at Merlin, who had stopped groaning now and was slowly shifting himself back into a sitting position.

“What did his girlfriend have to do with it?” asked Arthur.

Morgause screwed her face up in derision. “The usual disgusting story. He was tired of living alone, could hardly imagine life without her, even told her the truth of what he was. He constructed a spell to force her soul into the same endless rotation as your hoard of recycled men. But little boys shouldn’t play with cosmic toys. He hadn’t the power.”

An image flashed across Arthur’s mind of Mordred sagging under the spell he cast on Merlin.

Morgause continued. “He needed magical assistance, but he could hardly call on you or my sister.” She smiled. “So he searched through accounts of your enemies and found another sorcerer once tied to Morgana. I must admit, it was a fine plan, in theory. What is it you say in this time? _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_. Poor, naïve boy.”

“You killed him.”

“I neutered him. The next time he enters this world he won’t be making our souls dance to his ends anymore.”

“Merlin’s spell.”

“Quite,” she agreed, happily. “I must say, between you and Mordred there is a phenomenal amount of useful spellwork laid out for me.”

“And the girl?”

“What girl?”

“Mordred’s partner. You said she knows about us.”

“Oh, her,” said Morgause, waving a hand dismissively. “Dead. I couldn’t leave a rogue element like her in play.”

Arthur clenched his jaw.

“She was innocent.”

“So is everyone, until they day they aren’t. Innocence is fleeting and subjective. It does not buy you safety.” Her eyes flicked to Merlin on the floor, who was now watching her warily.

“Ah, the champion awakens. And how are you feeling now, Emrys?”

Merlin’s face was stony, and he pointedly ignored her, turning to offer Arthur a shaky smile.

“I think I believe you now,” he croaked out, and Arthur’s heart broke for him.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” he said, expression dismal.

Merlin shook his head. “We’re gonna make it,” he said, lifting his chin and glaring at Morgause.

“You know,” she said, irritated, “that defiant overconfidence wasn’t endearing even when you had the power to back it up.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I try to impress my kidnapper.”

Morgause raised one perfect eyebrow at him in disdain, but Arthur felt a manic smile creep onto his face.

“Not one of your best lines,” he said, forcing himself to sound jovial.

“You try being witty when you’ve just been pan-seared.”

“Point taken.”

“Enough,” snapped Morgause. She waved a hand and the shackles around Merlin’s wrists shot together behind his back. He wobbled in place, blinking rapidly as the sudden movement jostled his burn.

“It is time you were reacquainted with your destiny, boy.”

Merlin’s lips thinned and he glared, still feeling a little fuzzy with incoming shock.

The cuffs around his wrists warmed and began to lift of their own accord. Merlin felt his arms lock and he was forced to rise to his feet.

“You know, if I’m so bloody powerful,” he forced out through gritted teeth, “maybe torturing me was a bad fucking move.”

Morgause regarded him with a small smile.

“Power means nothing without the liberty to exercise it.”

“You’re that confident you can keep me on a leash?”

She trailed pale fingers down his cheek.

“I don’t need to, child. You collared yourself the moment you pledged to a Pendragon.”

An angry grunt sounded from the corner of the room, and Merlin saw Arthur dragged to his feet by the chains, eyes spitting fire at Morgana.

“Let us go now,” sighed Morgause, an unsettlingly soft expression on her face. Her eyes flashed and Merlin felt the chains linking him to the floor snap off, though the cuffs remained. With an insistent push at Merlin’s back, they sent him stumbling forwards. A furious growl from behind told him that Arthur’s were doing the same. Clenching his fists to hide their trembling, Merlin haltingly made his way out the open door, frantically scanning the corridor beyond for escape routes.

The walls and floor were mostly bare. The plaster on the walls was crumbling, dusting the concrete floor with a fine coat of white.

“Old press factory,” said Morgana, sounding mildly unhinged. “The old pile of bricks has been renovated and repurposed so many times it’s like a patchwork quilt of dereliction. No wonder nobody comes here.”

Merlin didn’t look at her, mentally flipping through his memory for some clue as to where that might be, but evidently he’d neglected to research abandoned printing presses in England. Assuming they were even still in England. His heart was racing, and he angrily blinked away tears of terror. Why the hell was it that when you needed the most to _think_ , your brain seized up in panic and became _completely fucking useless_? He grit his teeth in frustration.

“This won’t be enough, you know,” said Arthur, anger dripping from every word. “The world’s changed since you were alive. They’re ready, even if they don’t believe in magic. I’d like to see that old immortal army you made withstand a missile, or a well-timed landslide. There are always ways to fight.”

Morgause simply smiled. “Then I suppose we shall see how effective they are.”

At the end of the corridor there was a large wooden door that stood ajar. With an idle flick of her wrist, Morgause led them into a very large room that must have once hosted the newspaper production line. It was empty, save for a cluster of industrial-looking beds and some hospital equipment in the centre. Morgause strode over to the setup, and her clacking footsteps echoed in the open space. As they approached, Merlin spotted a tray of surgical instruments beside a dormant heart monitor, and his throat closed for a moment in a terrified choke. The cuffs pushed him in front of one of the beds and stopped, holding him in place. Arthur’s furious footsteps brought him to a second bed, right beside the tray of evil-looking surgical tools, and he eyes them speculatively.

“You’re welcome to try,” said Morgause, glibly moving to stand in front of Merlin without looking at Arthur. “You’ve already half torn your wrists apart trying to fight the shackles. I’m interested in seeing if you could separate bone.”

Arthur’s eyes spat fire at the witch’s back, his shoulders tensing as he listed towards an invitingly sharp scalpel. Morgause paid him no mind, instead reaching up with both hands to rest on Merlin’s shoulders.

“After tonight, you will be something truly spectacular,” she breathed reverently.

Merlin wanted to snap at her, but he felt as though his jaw were glued shut, so tense was his body. He shuddered minutely, and a muscle in his neck twitched as he tried to control himself.

Morgause tightened her hands on his shoulders and pushed him backwards, manhandling him as the cuffs jumped apart until he was stretched on his back along the bed. He tried to kick out, but she easily stepped out of the way and the movement pulled at his bloody wrists, making him gasp. Arthur growled from the other bed, but could do nothing as Morgana forced him into the same position. Belatedly, Merlin realised that these particular hospital beds were equipped with restraints meant to contain violent or destructive patients. Humming to herself, Morgause slowly strapped down each of his limbs, forgoing magic and instead gently connecting the restraints by hand. She seemed to enjoy drawing out Merlin’s slow imprisonment.

“I’m not gonna do it,” Merlin finally managed to bite out. His voice sounded a lot shakier than he intended, but he forced himself to continue. “Whatever the hell you do to me, I won’t be a fucking soldier in your war. I’ll never help you.”

“A soldier requires some level of free thought,” said Morgause, pressing a finger to Merlin’s white lips. She tilted her head to the side, and regarded him with a look that was almost affectionate. “You never looked for a way to reverse the curse, did you? Not until you were attacked.” She glanced over at Arthur, the corners of her mouth lifting in satisfaction at the sight of him equally bound and helpless.

“A touch arrogant, really, to think that you would never need it,” she said shaking her head in disapproval. She strode over to a squat cabinet, and deftly flicked open the catch, pulling the doors outwards. She continued, “It was a fine curse, I must admit. It not only binds the magic but also forces it into dormancy. Most bindings deteriorate over time as the magic tries to force its way out. Yours calms it until it forgets how to fight, and instead slumbers within the victim. Which is, of course, the key to the curse’s undoing.” She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a vial the length of her palm, filled to its stopper with forest-green liquid. “All you need to do is wake up the magic.”

Merlin frowned, looking warily at the vial.

“So, what, that’s some kind of magical stimulant?”

“Pretty much,” chimed in Morgana. “Tastes fucking awful. ”

“You fed my sister an untested magic energy shot?” hissed Arthur, glaring at Morgause, who smirked.

“It achieved its purpose. After so long restrained her power was… excited.”

“You made her magic explode inside her!”

Morgana scrunched up her nose, staring vacantly into the distance. “Yeah,” she said vaguely. “That really hurt.”

“Oh, hush sister. It was necessary, and you expelled the potion before you could truly suffer.” Morgause sounded like a chiding parent, wearily explaining why their child needed a vaccination. Morgana pursed her lips.

“I did,” she agreed. “It was burning and I was burning and then I vomited it all up.” She looked down at Arthur, and for a moment she looked so lost, so desperate for her brother, that his heart ached.

“Yes, that’s how it works, I’m afraid,” said Morgause, shaking the vial and inspecting the contents. “Constant stimulus. It keeps fanning the fires of your magic as long as it’s in the body. Very dangerous, really. The body and mind are not built to withstand that for long.”

“And you fed that to your _sister_?” wheezed Merlin, his horror rising with every passing moment.

“She survived, did she not?” Morgause said, waving her hand dismissively. “She held on long enough for the magic to shatter its bonds and the block on her memory, and then she purged it when it was necessary. I call that absolute success.”

“You are not fucking feeding that to Merlin,” bit out Arthur, tugging at his restraints. Morgause simply smiled. She leaned down and caressed Merlin’s face with her hand.

“She wouldn’t have died, you know,” she said, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “If she’d kept the potion down. It wouldn’t have killed her. Overstimulated magic doesn’t attack the body. Do you know what it does?”

Merlin watched her nervously, feeling his stomach tighten at her excited expression.

“It flits around and around inside the head, getting faster and hotter and more furious until even the most primal parts of the brain cannot keep up. And then it goes faster. It pushes at the bounds of conscious thought until the brain is so exhausted that it simply stops trying to contain all the energy. The hurricane continues, it rages on,” she stroked her hand through Merlin’s dirty hair, leaning in to brush her lips over his forehead, “and the mind shatters.”

Merlin choked, his heart seizing in terror. Every hair on his body seemed to zing with anxious energy and he heard Arthur flailing on the other bed.

“No,” Arthur spat, furiously. “Fuck off. You are not _fucking_ doing that to Merlin. I will bleed you dry before that happens. I will tear you to _pieces_.”

Morgause didn’t glance away from Merlin’s face, now marred by harsh tear tracks as he panted for breath.

“It won’t work,” Merlin forced out, trying to look fierce. “It’ll be like Morgana. I’ll throw it up and it’ll stop.” He jutted out his chin defiantly, straining at his bonds.

Morgause regarded him coolly. “Yes, that was a concern,” she agreed. Smoothly, she turned her back on him and bent to the tray beside the heart monitor. When she turned back, she was holding a long, sharp syringe.

Merlin’s eyes widened and he shouted, “ _No_!” With renewed desperation, he yanked at his restraints, trying to breathe through his panic and only succeeding in short, sharp gulps.

“Don’t you fucking touch him!” screamed Arthur. His frustration and terror increased a hundredfold as she unstoppered the vial.

“I do love this modern world,” she said, in a soft, satisfied voice. She deftly filled the syringe, and in the back of Merlin’s mind he observed that she had clearly done her research. Expertly, she flicked the syringe to dislodge any bubbles and slightly depressed the plunger.

“Mindless husks are so delightfully suggestible,” said Morgause, smiling to herself. “Well, you saw what Morgana did with that little resurrected knight in Camelot.” She turned towards Merlin, who shifted away as far as his bonds would allow.

“B-but you can’t!” he stammered. “You can’t just _inject_ something you’re meant to drink. That doesn’t work. You’ll kill me!”

Morgause rolled her eyes. “It is physically inert, idiot boy. Do you think I’m a simpleton?”

“You still can’t!” he screamed. “Please! Just don’t! Fucking don’t! For the love of God, just _no_!”

Morgause ignored him, stepping forward.

“Now, I’m going to have to remove those cuffs, or the potion won’t work. See my dear sister over there?” She grabbed Merlin’s chin and forced him to look over to the adjacent bed. He furiously blinked the tears out of his eyes to see Morgana bent over Arthur with a scalpel pressed to his throat.

“One hint of a magical attack from you, the tiniest flicker of resistance, and she will cut your dear prince’s throat in front of you. Do you understand?”

Merlin sobbed, nodding his head jerkily.

“Don’t you listen, Merlin,” commanded Arthur. “You get out and you bring the bitch do-“ He caught his breath as the blade pressed down, nicking the skin. Morgana smiled, her eyes sparking with excitement. “Imagine if I’d done this when you were my father,” she crooned excitedly. “Always family. So many names. Brother-uncle-father-cousin-nephew-kin!” She giggled, her grip on the blade trembling. Arthur stared at her in despair.

“I am so fucking sorry,” he whispered. Her eyes narrowed.

Morgause advanced on Merlin and he arched, desperately trying to free himself. She waved her hand, eyes flashing gold, and the iron cuffs snapped apart, dropping to his sides. Warmth flooded through his body, flushing his cheeks crimson and making him gasp. He blinked, trying to gain his bearings, and felt a hand clamp over his forearm.

“ _No_ ,” he sobbed out, and tried to pull away. Morgause held him in place so tightly that he felt his arm tingle.

“It’s been so very lovely seeing you again,” she said with a beatific smile, and pressed the needle into his skin.

Merlin felt the sharp sting like a dagger in his hyperaware skin. He bit his lip, fighting to hold back a whimper. A tingling warmth flooded into his muscle as Morgause depressed the plunger, and he immediately felt his heart flutter. He couldn’t hear Arthur, pressed as he was into silence by the edge of a blade, but he could feel his sharp, desperate gaze piercing him as his limbs began to loosen, strangely relaxed by the unfamiliar heat. He drew in a deep breath, feeling his stomach beginning to roll, and closed his eyes. His head lolled from side to side and he let out an involuntary sigh, feeling the insides of his veins prickle, warm sparks flowing in a rich stream inside. The sensation made him think of opera and dark chocolate. Then, the pulsing energy quickened.

His breathe caught. His eyes snapped open. His heart gave two surprised beats before thundering into overdrive. Somewhere deep inside him, Merlin felt something long buried splinter and crack.

Then, everything was light.

He could see the dust motes whirling through the air and the individual strands of the dangling cobwebs. He could feel the texture of the starched linen beneath him, every thread pressed unbearably into his humming skin. There was a rat scurrying in the corner and it was so close and so hungry and Merlin could feel its biting, clawing need like it was his own and he drew back with a gasp and then found himself completely _aware_ of his own body and the blood was so warm and rushing so fast and his eyes were wet and too exposed. Shut them, shut them. Keep them safe, or the life would bleed out the front of his head. And his fingers had dug so hard into his palms that the lovely warm blood was leaking out onto the appallingly scratchy sheets, and the muscles in his feet were so taught that they seized in a horrific cramp just like the ones along his spine. When did they do that? All those hard-working muscles clenching with all their might, like that might stop the quaking, burning, singing. And there’s vibration, somewhere in his neck. It’s fast and scratchy and it’s making the air thrum in the strangest vibrations that he can feel on his skin and in his hair and oh, he must be screaming. Screaming feels right, screaming pushes out some of the heat, some of the unbearable heat that’s building and building and setting his poor exhausted lungs on fire, and maybe if he screamed a little harder, he could stop it, could escape it, could sleep. Sleeping is nice. Sleeping is floating. Floating away with no fire. No more fire. No bleeding, screaming, fucking fire.

So he screamed harder.

Across the space, on the other small bed, Arthur could not get enough air. He thrashed in place, hollering at Morgause, at Merlin, at the echoing room. His body jerked so hard that the bed listed to the side, crashing to the floor and rolling to rest upside down on its bruised captive. Arthur strained his neck to the side, craning to look at his friend from his spot on the floor. Morgana had stepped back, watching Merlin with narrowed eyes, suddenly very focused.

Merlin’s eyes slid open again, frantically roving over the room, though he saw none of it, lost in the maelstrom inside his head. One image found its way through the confusion – a pair of cold, cold eyes, set in a face of pure triumph. Morgause leaned over him, hungrily drinking in his seizing movements, his agonised screams. She was mouthing soft words of encouragement, utterly enraptured by the shattering warlock.

So it was that she did not feel the hand ghosting over her collarbone, did not spot the bright glint of a blade before the scalpel sunk into the skin over her throat and _sliced_ , spraying a jet of deep crimson over Merlin’s shuddering body.

Her eyes widened in shock and pain. She clamped a hand to her neck, trying to hold the spilling blood inside, and turned, wide eyed, to her attacker.

Morgana looked back at her, her eyes clearer than they had been all day.

Morgause silently screamed her confusion, to which Morgana clenched her jaw, piercing her sister with a look of anguished desperation.

“I was _good_ ,” she said, simply, her voice shaking.

Morgause raised a hand in vengeance, but Morgana caught her by the wrist, dragging her into an embrace that was half restriction, half sorrowful affection. Morgause beat at her arms, but her limbs were weakening, and after a long, agonising moment, she went completely limp.

Morgana held her sister’s body, tenderly pressing Morgause’s face to her neck. Arthur watched in astonishment.

“W-why?” he gasped.

She looked at him, eyes glistening.

“I told you,” she said, her eyebrows drawing together in torment. “I remember _everything_.”

She lowered Morgause to the dirty floor, ignoring the blood now staining her rumpled pantsuit. Silently, she turned and flicked a hand, eyes flashing, and Arthur’s restraints slid off with a whisper. He scrambled out from under the bed, tripping up several times as he forced himself upright.

“Merlin,” he whispered, and Morgana spun back to the warlock.

His screams were tapering off now. His voice had taken on a harsh rasp and the taught muscles in his neck and arm were slackening.

“His body’s exhausted,” said Morgana, striding over to check his pulse, “which means his mind is too. He can’t keep up with the magic in his head.”

“How do we stop it?” demanded Arthur.

“We can’t,” she said, clutching at her pant leg. “There’s no way to shut off the stimulating agent, and we can’t flush it out of his blood. That sort of procedure would take hours, or incredibly powerful magic.”

“ _You_ have incredibly powerful magic!” shouted Arthur, but she shook her head.

“Not even Merlin at his best could pull that off in time.”

“Then what do we _do_?” pleaded Arthur.

Morgana ran a hand through Merlin’s hair. “He has to fix it.”

“But you said he couldn’t!”

“At his best. But right now his magic’s on the ultimate steroid. It’s killing him, because his body’s exhausted, and it’s slowing down his mind. But if he could keep up with it, he could use it.” Her gaze dropped to where she had been groping at her leg, and Arthur finally saw that it wasn’t a nervous tick. Morgana pulled material up over her thigh to reveal a strip of material holding three long plastic cylinders in place. She quickly untied the knot.

“I had to nick these from work while Morgause was getting this place ready. I couldn’t have her asking questions. I’ve never been that good an actor.”

“You fooled us,” said Arthur, staring at the plastic objects.

“I always do,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You see what you expect.”

She took one of the cylinders in her hand and pulled off the cap.

“An EpiPen?” asked Arthur.

“He needs a boost. He needs enough energy to get ahead of his magic and harness it,” she glanced down at Merlin’s sweaty face, his clouded eyes. “Sorry, sweetheart,” she said, and held the syringe to his thigh, hitting the button. One milligram of adrenaline shot into his bloodstream.

Merlin’s breath caught. His body began to tense again, and he sobbed.

“It’s not enough,” said Arthur, and she nodded. Pursing her lips, she picked up a second syringe.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” asked Arthur, looking worried.

“Yeah, but the alternative is letting him turn into a vegetable. We have to hope that while he’s souped up like this he can handle it.” She uncapped the pen and jabbed it into his leg in one fluid motion. This time, Merlin gasped, and his body jolted on the bed.

“Make sure those restraints hold!” ordered Morgana. Arthur warily eyed the hospital bindings.

“Come on, Merlin,” whispered Morgana, rubbing circles into his temples. “You need to _think_. You can get the control you need if you just _think_!”

Merlin whined on the bed, but Morgana noticed a frown building between his brows that didn’t belong to his old pained grimace.

“He’s getting more lucid!” she said.

“He’s gone really red,” said Arthur, concerned.

Merlin broke down into another harsh wail, and Morgana could see him slipping.

“Damn!” she said. She pulled out the final needle. “Fight _back_ , you little shit!”

Arthur’s eyes widened as she plunged it into Merlin’s thigh.

It took a moment for the drug to hit his system, and then Merlin was panting, sweating, twitching, and his frown deepened as he shook his head frantically.

“Merlin?” called Morgana, hand on his forehead. “Merlin, can you hear me?”

Merlin didn’t respond, head rolling in distress. Morgana scowled. She pulled herself up onto the bed, straddling his hips and taking his head between her hands.

“Merlin, _look at me_!” she yelled, and infused her voice with every piece of persuasive magic she knew.

Merlin’s eyes snapped to her and for a moment they seemed to clear just a touch. Morgana seized that moment.

“Merlin, you need to take control. All that magic in your head is running too far and too fast. _Direct it_.”

Merlin sputtered at her incoherently, and she slapped him.

“This room is too dark. We need light. Make light!” ordered Morgana. Merlin blinked at her in confusion and she slapped him again. “Make light!”

Merlin’s eyes flashed and Morgana had the sense to slam her eyes shut just as the entire room lit up in blinding gold. Arthur was not so lucky, and he cursed as the glare burned itself onto his retinas.

“Okay, now take the light away!” ordered Morgana, holding tight to his face.

Merlin gulped beneath her, but the light promptly shut off, plunging them into deep gloom. She could just see Merlin’s face, screwed tight in pain and determination, and she grinned.

“That’s it!” she screamed. “Now we need to hide. Make mist! You can make mist!”

Merlin grunted and glared, eyes flashing, and the dark room flooded with rolling grey fog. It swept over Morgana, leaving freezing little droplets over her skin and hair, and she shivered. The fog smelled like old swamp water.

“Good! Now make it disappear, you can do it!”

A harsh wind picked up in the wide room, and the mist curled itself into tight little eddies that swiftly danced into oblivion.

Morgana looked down at Merlin, her eyes sparking with fiery excitement. Merlin’s face was tense, and his eyes were glued to hers, filled with tears still but utterly, beautifully _aware_.

“Perfect,” breathe Morgana, and she leaned forward until her nose nearly touched his. “Now save yourself.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed, and she continued.

“There’s a foreign substance in your blood with a healing magical signature. Find it, find all of it, and flush it out of your body.”

Merlin’s breath caught and he blinked. Morgana held him more tightly. “You can do this. The magic is under your control for now. Make it work for you. Save yourself!”

Merlin shut his eyes, chest heaving. His lips moved, and Morgana vaguely recognised healing words, words for fighting infections and poisons, words for attacking the attacker.

“Is it working?” breathed Arthur, and Morgana could have strangled him for risking breaking Merlin’s concentration. Merlin’s eyes were opened to the thinnest of slits and Morgana could see the irises glowing with unrelenting magic.

Merlin finished chanting and his back arched, throwing Morgana to the side. Arthur caught her automatically and helped her find her feet as they both watched, spellbound. Merlin’s body lit up with thousands tiny green lights, glowing from somewhere beneath the skin. They moved swiftly through his body in fast, pulsing movements, then as one began to move up his body, along his limbs and towards his abdomen. Progress was slow, as each beat of Merlin’s heart tried to force the stuff to spread out once more, but the magic managed to pull the lights inexorably stomacheward. Finally, when all the lights were concentrated over a small area below Merlin’s ribs, there was a flash. All the green dots merged and glowed for one moment before disappearing entirely. Merlin threw himself to the side as far as his restraints would allow and vomited, forcing the poisonous stimulant out of his body and on to the bare floor.

He collapsed back, gasping, and Arthur surged forward.

“Merlin? Merlin, are you okay? Did it work?”

When Merlin could only pant in response, Arthur turned to Morgana.

“ _Did it work_?”

“I… I think so,” she breathed. Leaning forward, she ran her fingers over his cheek.

“Merlin?”

“It stopped,” whispered Merlin. “It stopped. It stopped. Oh, thank God. It stopped.” Tears bled from the corners of his eyes.

Morgana straightened, turning to Arthur with barely-concealed hope.

“We did it?” she asked, trying to decide whether to celebrate or cry. Arthur shrugged helplessly, taking Merlin’s hand and rubbing the digits tenderly.

“Merlin?” he asked, his voice low and pleading.

Merlin stopped his whispering and blinked, turning to look at Arthur with watery eyes.

“ _Arthur_ ,” he said, and there was so much relief and surprise and _reverence_ in that word that Arthur had to swallow back a lump in his throat.

Merlin began to smile, a tentative, weak thing, and then he gasped, eyes widening and breath hitching.

“Merlin?” cried Arthur, grabbing his face and staring at his pained expression.  
“Morgana, what’s happening?” he demanded, trying to hold Merlin still as he struggled for breath.

“I don’t know!” shouted Morgana. “The stimulant’s gone! I don’t…” her mouth dropped open in realisation.

“It’s the adrenaline. It’s too much. I gave him a fucking OD!”

She surged forward, pressing two fingers to his pulse point. His heartbeats were confused and irregular.

“Dammit!” she spat.

She pressed a hand over his heart and tried every calming spell she knew. None had any effect. “Fuck!”

“What do we do?”

“I gave him three milligrams of epinephrine, and it’s driving his heart crazy. I can’t… All my calming spells are for illnesses of the mind! They can’t do anything about an externally introduced hormone!”

What remained of the blood in Arthur’s cheeks drained. “He’s having a heart attack.”

“We need to get him to a hospital,” said Morgana.

“There’s no time!”

“Fuck that,” she spat, glaring at Merlin as he slipped into unconsciousness. “I’m a witch.”

She grabbed hold of Merlin’s wrist and Arthur’s shoulder, closing her eyes as she concentrated. She let out a string of sharp magic words that to Arthur’s ears sounded like profanity, and a wind picked up around them. Arthur held onto Merlin in alarm and shut his eyes against the storm. When he opened them, they were crouched in a bleak alley, somewhere in London.

“Holy fuck…” he whispered. His eyes swept back to Merlin. “He’s not breathing!”

Morgana swore, sweeping down to crouch at Merlins side. She felt his pulse again and found it weak and sporadic. Pressing a hand over his chest, she sent a brief burst of magic, then another, and another, trying to remind his heart how it was meant to beat.

“We’re two blocks away from a hospital,” she bit out, trying not to lose her timing. “Sacred Heart public, over that way,” she jerked her head. Arthur nodded.

“You run ahead,” he said. “I’ll carry him.”

Morgana stood with a sharp nod and bolted along the alley. After a moment, she jerked to a halt, spinning and waving her hand over first Merlin, then herself. The bloodstains vanished, and Morgana set off again, now looking a touch less like a serial killer. Arthur leant down and swung Merlin up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, turning to run after Morgana as swiftly as possible, careful not to lose sight of her.

“Come on, idiot,” he whispered to his burden. “Don’t you _dare_ leave me now.”

The hospital really was very close – Morgana had chosen her location well – and Arthur managed to pull Merlin into the Accident and Emergency department in less than two minutes.

“That’s them!” came Morgana’s frantic voice, and Arthur spotted her pointing to them from the reception desk. Two nurses swiftly surged forward, one wheeling a gurney while the other checked the pulse at Merlin’s wrist.

“No heartbeat,” she said, and Arthur’s mind went white with panic.

“Get him on the bed,” ordered the nurse, and Arthur’s body complied without him mind telling him to.

“Mer-,” he began, but his voice choked off.

“We’ll take care of him, sir,” said the receptionist. A doctor ran from the far end of the corridor, his hair clearly mussed with sleep.

“Crash cart, now!” he ordered.

A new nurse popped up behind Arthur, and gently took his elbow. “You should leave,” he said, kindly. “Let the doctor work.”

“Merlin,” he breathed, not taking his eyes from the deathly pale man on the bed as he was wheeled away.

“He’s in good hands,” said the nurse. “You’ll be in the way if you stay.”

“Arthur,” said Morgana, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He’s right. We should go.”

“He’ll be alone,” he said, his voice tinged with desolation.

“He’ll have his best chance if we go,” insisted Morgana, tears trickling from her eyes. “Please.”

Arthur turned to her, took in her worn appearance, the rumpled suit, and nodded. They made their way out to the waiting room.

The nurse followed, and looked to Morgana. “Do you need us to call the police?”

“No,” said Arthur, a little too quickly. The nurse looked at him, eyebrows raised, then turned back to Morgana.

“No,” she confirmed. “We’ll handle it.”

The nurse looked at her, assessing, but nodded, turning on his heal and striding away.

“Think they’ll leave it at that?” whispered Arthur.

“They have to. It’s a confidentiality thing,” said Morgana. She glanced around them and spotted a sign for the lady’s bathroom. Gesturing, she led him over and, making sure no one was watching, slipped inside.  
The bathroom was empty and Morgana cast a quick spell on the door to stop any sound from escaping.

“Do you really think the cops won’t get involved?” asked Arthur.

Morgana frowned. “Not if no one tells them. Hospitals turn a blind eye to abuse cases at the time.”

“And the warehouse? Our DNA’s all over the place,” said Arthur. “If they find Morgause, they’ll find us.”

Morgana thought for a moment, and took his hands in hers. Her eyes flashed, and the cuts and bruised from the manacles vanished.

“Leave the warehouse to me,” she said.

Arthur looked sceptical. “You could have planned this better, you know.”

She gave him a bleak look. “I’m half a jump-skip away from a psychotic breakdown right now, and have been for the last twenty-four hours. Lose the fucking attitude, Arthur.”

Arthur huffed out a harsh breath, and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“I fucking hate this life. It’s been one long fuck up.”

Morgana nodded, glaring at the folds and dirty stains on her once smart suit. Debris from the destruction of a good life, a life that no longer felt like hers.

“I just hope Merlin can keep a lid on his magic when he wakes. When mine first showed up I set my fucking curtains on fire, and I didn’t have anything like this shitstorm stirring me up.”

Arthur crossed his arms, bowing his head and blinking away tears. “At least he’s got an exit if everything goes to hell. We all do. I’m fucking tired of this round anyway.”

Morgana watched him sadly. “It’s so weird. The part of me that grew up here wants to slap you for that, but the really old part of me just wants to curl up away from the world forever.” Her eyes were bleak.

Arthur studied her warily.

“Are you… going to be okay?”

“You mean am I going to snap and try to murder you?”

Arthur remained silent. Morgana sighed.

“I told you, Arthur, I remember everything. I remember running from Uther and hiding from you and Merlin stabbing me in the gut. I even remember that asylum and the cold iron.” She shuddered visibly. “But I also remember fireworks on my birthday and singing at the solstice festival and meeting Merlin in that shitty little café. Did you know I was on the phone to you, when we met? I was distracted because you were being a whiny turd and I didn’t see Merlin’s stacks of books until I ploughed into them.”

Arthur blinked dumbly at this. He was beginning to see why Merlin was always so insistent on that destiny crap.

Morgana hugged her hands to herself.

“Everything that I was… every version… it’s all there. I don’t know who I am right now. Everything’s a contradiction. Sometimes I feel sick and then happy and then murderous and I don’t know which one comes from the real me. I don’t know if there _is_ a real me.”

Tears slid down her cheeks in a steady stream. Arthur slowly put an arm around her and pressed her into his side.

“I still want to hurt you,” she said, sounding horrified with herself. “I want to kill you, make you suffer first. But I also want to kiss your cheek and smack you for thinking you could ever fucking run out on our family.” She stared out the restroom window, confusion and low, simmering terror written across her face. “I think that last bit’s stronger. It has to be, after what I just did. It must be. Otherwise I wouldn’t… It has to be strong enough… right?”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Arthur, trying to sound confident. She didn’t seem convinced.

“I wonder if it’ll be like this for Merlin,” she mused, and Arthur stiffened.

“So… do you think… after what Morgause did, and all that magic he used…”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe all that spellwork was instinct. Maybe he remembers. We can’t know until he wakes up.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched and he pressed his sister closer.

“He has to survive first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hi there! Not dead! Please don't kill me! I'm too pretty to die!
> 
> Conceited arse-covering aside, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I started writing it months ago, and then picked it up last week, finished it, read it over, realised I'd written in like five glaring plot holes, and basically rewrote the whole ending.
> 
> Anyhoo, we're nearing the home stretch here! Tune in again for more shameless angst!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the extremely long wait. I'd put the story aside for a while, for a number of reasons, but I am determined to finish it.
> 
> To all of you who are still here, thanks for sticking it out. This story has a lot of canon to remember what with the three periods of time that I've woven together. Here's hoping it all threads together okay... 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the update, and I'll see you again soon.

Perhaps the strangest thing about a hospital is how it can be cacophonously loud and silent as a vacuum at the same time. There are beeps and footsteps, whirs and murmurs, taps and curses, all overlapping into a suffocating tapestry of will-they-won’t-they-maybe-they’ll-survive. Yet somehow, the sounds you are waiting for are never quite there. A whispered greeting, a victorious whoop, an assurance that everything will be okay – any acknowledgement that you are something more than a helpless passenger caught in a flood of pain and desperation.

But it never does come, because that is exactly what you are. And the complete dearth of comforting sound builds between your ears until you feel like you may explode.

For Arthur Prescott, once Pendragon, this feeling was like being slowly burned alive.

He hunched in an uncomfortable blue chair, despondent and tense. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers curled together in front of his face. Absently, he rested his lips against his knuckles, breathing very steadily with his eyes fixed on the brutally starched bed sheets. Every time his eyes drifted to the pale face of his friend (Best friend? Lover? Comrade-in-arms?), a surge of fierce anxiety flared in his gut and he had to dig his nails hard into the soft skin of his forearm to regain control.

Merlin looked like a corpse. Four times his heart had stopped since they entered the hospital, and four times the doctors had dragged him back from the brink. Arthur felt his own heart clench in sympathy, and wrinkled his nose in irritation. He wondered what happened to a reincarnated soul when its body kept throwing itself through death’s door and back again. Did it try to move into another body and get sucked back? Had some little boy with dark hair and blue eyes died seconds after being born as his soul tore its way back to this hospital?

He hoped not, but then how would he know? Merlin always understood this bizarre magical cycle better than him, and even he had never worked out why or how it was happening.

Arthur’s gaze flicked back to Merlin’s face, and he quickly added another set of deep crescents to the skin above his wrists.

Merlin’s skin was sickly pale, the shade of old eggshells. His hair was lank, and he lacked any sign of the bouncy, frenetic energy that clung to him through the centuries. He was alive, Arthur knew it, but that did not change the fact that Arthur had seen him die more than once, had held him, comforted him, buried him, and the boy in the bed looked just like the corpse that haunted the back of his mind. Blood-spattered images of their past lives superimposed themselves over the real, soporific scene, and Arthur huffed sharply through his nose, blinking rapidly until the memories faded.

“Knock knock,” came a soft voice from the door, entirely too jovial for Arthur’s mood. He scowled

“What do you want, Gwaine?”

“I come bearing coffee,” he said, sidling into the room with two cups and a bag of muffins clutched in his hands.

“I didn’t ask for coffee.”

“I know, but you haven’t eaten or drunk anything in about ten hours,” Gwaine tossed him the paper bag and Arthur snatched it from the air out of reflex. “When Merlin wakes up it’ll be best if you don’t pass out on him.”

“I’m not a child,” Arthur groused.

Gwaine cocked an eyebrow. “Well, you’re not much of a grown up, refusing to take care of yourself as if that’ll help Merlin get any better.”

Arthur shot him a livid glare, but Gwaine simply met his eyes in challenge.

“I mean it, Arthur. You need food and sleep, or you’ll put yourself in one of these beds.”

“I’m fine,” said Arthur, and the frown line permanently slashed between his eyebrows deepened.

Gwaine looked at him for a long moment, before finally shaking his head and breaking their gaze.

“Just drink the fucking coffee, sire.”

Silence returned to their corner of the hospital, or at least this hellhole’s version of silence, but Arthur found that with Gwaine here it didn’t feel quite so constricting anymore, as irritating as the intruder was. Leaning back in his chair, he picked up the Styrofoam cup and took a long drag. It scorched his tongue, but he drank again anyway.

“The warehouse is gone,” murmured Gwaine, finally breaking the silence. Arthur tensed, but Gwaine wasn’t looking at him, instead focused on Merlin’s sleeping face.

“The fire burned it away,” he continued. “Morgana covered your tracks with a sweet little disguise spell and presto inferno, no more murder scene.”

Arthur sighed softly, nodding.

“And none of this could be traced back to us?”

“Magic is a wonderful thing,” said Gwaine, voice so low that it barely carried the few metres between them.

“A thing that’ll get us locked up and dissected if we’re caught.”

“Depends who catches us.”

Arthur levelled a bemused look at him, and Gwaine nodded in concession.

“We were careful, Arthur,” he insisted. “No evidence, no trace. No one’s coming for him.”

Arthur closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I thought that a few weeks ago.”

Gwaine’s silence was reply enough.

Arthur sighed, his gaze burning a hole in the sheets. “If he got caught this century I honestly have no idea if he’d get away. He could level a mountain if he wanted to, but long-range snipers? Magnetic cell doors? Surveillance cameras? I saw high priestesses brought down by men on horseback, and they weren’t half as well equipped as the soldiers we have now. Or as paranoid.”

Gwaine pursed his lips, reclining in his chair. “He could get out. And even if he couldn’t, he’d die and be free again soon enough. What’s one shit life in the face of thousands of years?”

“Ask Morgana,” said Arthur darkly, and Gwaine cringed. “How’s she doing?”

“Better,” said Gwaine, reluctantly. “The panic attacks are coming less often. She’s crying less, or at least hiding it better, and she hasn’t been trying to hurt herself.”

Arthur rubbed a hand down his face. “Good. That’s good.”

Gwaine peered at him. “You know it’s not just the first life doing that to her, right?” Arthur looked at him askance. Gwaine frowned at him like he was an ignorant child. “Even all her good lives had really different paths shaping her. She’s got a dozen conflicting personalities fighting each other in her head. That’d mess with you even if one of them wasn’t a crazy-arse murderer.”

Arthur breathed deep, blowing air out pursed lips.

“Christ, I know, but I just… there aren’t exactly any websites on this are there? Any guidebooks that deal with a couple centuries of revoked amnesia?” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Gwaine shrugged. “Nope, but I reckon if you spoke to a professional, and they didn’t immediately have you sectioned, they’d say the same thing I am.” Arthur cut his gaze to him, and Gwaine’s expression was stony.

“You’re her family, Arthur, the only one that’s been around for every single life. You’re the only anchor she has.”

Arthur crossed his arms. “I don’t know how to help her.”

“Acknowledging that she needs your help would be a start,” said Gwaine, his voice turning clipped and sharp. Arthur looked up in surprise, and Gwaine continued. “I mean it, Arthur. I know you sent her away from here because she was too unstable to be in public, but the fact is she’s a fucking hurricane right now, and if you can’t pull yourself together and help her she’ll blow herself straight back to Crackotopia.”

“She kidnapped us,” said Arthur, but he didn’t sound accusatory, only lost. “She let Morgause torture Merlin. They could have destroyed him.”

“And she saved both your lives.”

“She could have warned us. We could have stopped Morgause without letting her so close. Without all of this.” He flung his arms out to indicate the prone warlock, who did not stir.

“Arthur,” said Gwaine, soft but insistent. “This isn’t black and white. Remember, she’s been at this crossroads before.”

Arthur closed his eyes. After a long moment, he let out a wistful sigh. “She could have been so good, if we’d protected her.”

Gwaine shrugged, leaning his head back to regard the ceiling. “Maybe, maybe not. The crazy bitch tendencies can’t all have come from Morgause. But the fact is that back then you didn’t know she needed help. This time you do. Don’t fuck it up.”

Arthur cracked a dry smile at that, nodding. Gwaine grinned at him, allowing silence to once more fill the room, and settled back to watch Merlin sleep through his recovery. Without meaning to, Gwaine’s hand drifted forward and settled on the warlock’s head, brushing the dark strands back from his forehead.

_Come on, you gangly little shit_ , he thought to himself. _Come back._

_We’re waiting._

 

* * *

 

Four days since Gwaine’s visit, and Arthur had only left Merlin’s room when forced to by hospital staff. His clothes were hanging noticeably loose, and his hair was dishevelled, but at least he had finally called Morgana.

“Is he okay?” she’d whispered in lieu of a greeting.

Arthur cringed. “The same. That’s not why I’m calling.”

Morgana paused, and Arthur wished he could see her expression. “Then… what?”

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Morgs. I’m sorry I haven’t come see you.”

“You’ve been with Merlin.”

“He’s not the only one in trouble.”

“I don’t need a _minder_ , Arthur. I’m not going to snap.”

“Morgana, just… can we just not?” Arthur felt the exhaustion seep into his voice. “I’m here. I know you’re not weak, but I’m here. I love you. Even if you’re dreaming about killing me. I’m still going to love you. I’m not saying this to sway you. I’m saying it because I’m strung out, everything’s falling apart, and it’s something we all really fucking need to hear right now. You are my family. And I love you.”

Morgana was dead silent. Arthur waited for over a minute, patient and weary.

“I know,” she finally said. “I do know. Of course I do, and I… you know I do too. It’s just… I really wish… _fuck!_ ”

“I know,” interrupted Arthur. “It’s not enough. It won’t make it all stop.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” she pleaded. “God, I’m trying so hard!”

“That’s all I can ask,” said Arthur. “The hardest thing for anyone to do is fight what’s in their own head. Just remember what I said. You’re not on your own, this time. If you lose your way, remember that.”

“I am _not_ going to be a monster,” she bit out, sounding desperate and furious.

“Of course not,” said Arthur. “You’re Morgana fucking Prescott.”

Morgana bit out a harsh laugh.

“You say that like it’s supposed to mean something.”

“It means you’re one of the toughest, most accomplished women around, and you have a life worth living. It means you aren’t going to let this beat you.”

“Why are you suddenly so sure?”

“I just realised that if I’d shown a bit of faith in you the first time we grew up together, I might never have lost you.”

Morgana paused, and Arthur could practically feel her discomfort.

“That wasn’t… it wouldn’t have…”

“I left you in the cold once. I will _never_ do that again.”

A few weeks ago, Arthur’s stony face and dramatic declaration would have made Morgana laugh.

She wasn’t laughing now.

After a long drawn-out silence, Arthur smiled sadly to himself, and took a breath.

“I’m going to go now, Morgs. You call me if you need me, yeah?”

The only sound was the soft fuzz of static, until Morgana’s voice finally drifted across, perfectly steady.

“Yeah,” she said, and the line cut off.

Now, days later, Arthur was dozing in the soft warmth of the afternoon sun when he was woken by a sharp rattle. He sat forward, instantly on alert, angrily blinking the sleep from his eyes as he tried to pinpoint the source of the noise. The room was empty, save for Arthur and Merlin’s impressive collection of medical detritus. Arthur frowned in confusion, surveying the private room, peering into the shadowed corners. The rattle came again, and Arthur’s eyes flicked to the squat table beside Merlin’s bed. It was shuddering, seemingly of its own accord. Arthur approached warily, glaring at the animated furniture, until a soft moan drew his attention away.

His eyes snapped to the bed, blood rushing in his ears, just in time to see Merlin shift ever so slightly, frowning in his sleep.

“Merlin?” breathed Arthur. He was frozen to the spot for a single heartbeat, and then surged upward, leaning over Merlin and clutching a hand to his shoulder.

“Merlin, can you hear me?” he bit out, urgently.

Merlin shifted again, and Arthur’s chair sprang back, knocking into the wall with a bang. Arthur jumped at the noise, alarm zinging through his head.

“Wait, Merlin, stop,” he urged, gripping tighter. “You’re okay, you’re fine. We need to be quiet.”

A glass picked itself up off the table to shatter on the floor. Arthur cringed.

“Merlin, please, stop! Your magic’s out of control! You’ll be caught!”

Merlin let out a little whine, moisture building at the corners of his closed eyes.

“Nnno…” he croaked, barely audible. “Please…” His voice caught on the last word and he choked, coughing through his dawning panic.

“Merlin, you’re safe,” Arthur implored. “Calm down.”

The lights flickered, shuddering off and on again. The instruments around them began to protest, some whining angrily while others shut off altogether.

“Merlin!” begged Arthur in horror. “Please!”

Merlin’s eyes shot open and he dragged in an arduous breath. He immediately slammed his eyes shut again as light lanced into his unprepared retinas.

“Oh God,” he gasped. “Make it stop… please…”

Everything in the room began to tremble, and the power faltered again. Urgent beeps and shouts drifted in from the corridor as equipment shorted out in the rest of the hospital. Merlin shook his head, forcing his eyes open again as he wept. Every muscle across his chest and arms seemed to be spasming in place.

“It hurts,” he sobbed.

Arthur gripped Merlins face in his hands and forced him to meet his eyes. This close, he could see the bright yellow glow of the magic staining his irises.

“You’re okay, Merlin. You’re fine.”

Merlin’s glazed eyes finally seemed to focus.

“Arthur?” he whispered.

Arthur’s face warped into a feral grin as the chaos around him flared.

“Damn fucking right,” he crowed.

Merlin’s face seemed to crumple even further.

“Arthur, the magic. I can’t…”

“It’s _your_ magic,” said Arthur. “You own it. You can do this.”

Merlin shook his head. “I can’t.”

“ _Mer_ lin,” said Arthur, leaning in until their noses were inches apart. “You are the best damn warlock the world has ever seen. You are safe, you are protected, and I am never fucking letting you go. Now concentrate, you stubborn little shit!”

Merlin stared at him, tears leaking out his eyes, and then he pressed his lips into a harsh line and tensed, screwing his face up in determination. The light in his eyes flared bright for a long, painful moment. Arthur’s breath stopped in his lungs as though they had turned to stone.

And then, in the space of a heartbeat, Merlin’s eyes slipped back to green, sending the quaking and smashing and flickering with into tense stillness.

The room finally calmed, but Merlin’s frown remained in place, as he forcibly kept his magic in check.

Arthur panted, heart pounding, and stared at Merlin with triumphant adoration.

“Told you,” he said. Merlin’s mouth quirked in the tiniest of smiles.

Skidding footsteps sounded outside the door and a panicked doctor fell into the room.

“What are you doing?” he gasped out, glaring at Arthur. “Step away from him. The equipment’s gone haywire. He needs help.”

Arthur leaned back, but kept one hand resting on Merlin’s shoulder.

“He’s fine,” he said. “He’s awake.”

The doctor took one look at Merlin’s drawn features, his tearstained cheeks.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked, briskly stepping forward to check his vitals.

Merlin shook his head, jaw tense. The doctor checked his IV, then his oxygen.

“If there’s something wrong, I need to know so I can fix it.”

Merlin screwed his eyes shut.

“Chest… hurts,” he forced out, and Arthur swallowed. The doctor looked to the heart monitor, beeping away steadily.

“That’s to be expected. You went into cardiac arrest several times, but your heart’s working just fine now.”

“W-what?” stuttered Merlin, and the rhythmic beeping picked up.

“Relax,” said the doctor, in his most soothing voice. “You’re going to be fine. Now that you’ve woken up, we can focus on getting you better.” He smiled, then looked to Arthur. “How long ago did he wake?”

“About five minutes.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh. Perhaps a little hospital panic was all you needed.”

Merlin tried to smile, but his face was beginning to slacken with fatigue and he was weeping again.

“It’s okay,” assured the doctor. “You’re going to be fine. But please, before you sleep, I need to ask how much you remember.”

Arthur tensed, suddenly electrified at the million-dollar question. He watched Merlin intently, carefully wiping away a tear with his thumb.

“I… not much. I don’t…” his breathing was becoming heavier, and the doctor quickly changed tack. Arthur felt creeping cold sink into his bones.

“It’s okay, son. It’s okay. Just sleep now. You’re going to be fine,” said the doctor, and Merlin nodded, softly gasping as tears slid down his face.

Another set of running footsteps thumped past the door, and the doctor swivelled at the shout of “crash cart!”

“Go,” said Arthur, softly. “Merlin’s not in danger.”

The doctor glanced back at Merlin, clearly reluctant to leave someone who had just woken up after a weeks-long coma, but the damage from Merlin’s storm was calling him, and he rushed out the door.

Merlin listened to the bustling mess outside, and Arthur could see realisation and guilt written across his face.

“They’ll handle it Merlin,” he said, taking one of Merlin’s hands and gripping it tightly. “It’s not your fault.”

Merlin turned his face from him, cheeks colouring in shame.

“You’ll learn to control it,” insisted Arthur. “The other you did.”

Merlin choked, a sob hitching in his throat, and he swung his head back to look Arthur dead in the eye. Arthur saw panic, and sadness, and desperation painted across his face.

Merlin took a hitched breath, and said a single word that stopped Arthur’s breath and left his ears buzzing.

“Bastet.”

 

* * *

 

The first time he died, Merlin felt a flicker of fear and doubt such as he hadn’t known in decades.

Pebbles dug into his back. Each breath forced the hard rocks to dig into his weathered skin. The soft sound of lapping water blanketed his mind in mist as his heart grew heavier in his chest and his bones lamented their long years.

Blinking slowly, Merlin let his head twist towards the waters of Lake Avalon and his many visits here flashed in his mind. The calm surface seemed to sing to him of Freya, of Excalibur, of lost love and victorious battles and incredibly annoying pixies.

The one thing he could not hear in the silence was Arthur.

It was ridiculous, Merlin thought, that even through his many accomplishments, his long service to the nation of Camelot, he could never truly escape the absence of Arthur. He had thrown himself into the study of magic, drawing knowledge and power to him like a drowning man, never acknowledging his addiction for what it was – the need to feel like someone of consequence. Someone who could affect the world, shape it, change it, and never again be that helpless, ineffectual stain on history that could not even save his best friend. Had instead been the reason the king died. So many times Merlin had the chance to take out Morgana, to remove Mordred from the board, and he had been warned so many _goddamn_ times of what would happen if he stayed his hand, but the poor little farm boy hadn’t the stomach for murder. He thought he knew better than a nigh omniscient dragon. He was arrogant, and sanctimonious, and wrong, and because of him, _thousands_ had died, and the best king Camelot had ever known bled his life away in the arms of Albion’s greatest liar.

Merlin blinked again, feeling his neck protesting the strained angle, but he didn’t look away. The lake flashed with the bright sun, and a part of him longed to step into the water and let himself be consumed – annihilated – absolved.

This was where so many of his great stories seemed to end.

His first love, and Arthur’s. Merlin tried to ignore the symmetry of his slaying Sophia before Arthur killed Freya.

His first real war.

His first encounter with another magical world.

And yet all those stories paled in comparison to the last time he had come here, saying goodbye to the one person who restored his faith in the world and kept it safe without even knowing. Merlin frowned a little, remembering all the secrets, everything he had tucked away into the dark as a young man, and how it had wedged itself between him and Arthur like a poisonous splinter, forcing a distance that had echoed anger and reproach through Merlin’s heart. Arthur had been a brilliant light in Merlin’s world – pompous and ridiculous but still so incandescent that Merlin could not look away – and yet he had never truly _seen_ Merlin. Not until the end, when unspoken words, new understandings and unlived lives had wrapped them in a suffocating web of what-if’s until Arthur’s eyes closed and Merlin’s scream shattered.

He had dreamed more than once of the king’s return. Sometimes he brought forgiveness, sometimes condemnation, but the one thing he always granted was closure, and when Merlin woke and found himself alone and tense and _unknowing_ he would bury his head in the pillow and howl.

Arthur had thanked him, as he lay in Merlin’s arms, but what were dying words if you never had to live with them? What were the two men to each other, if the truth only came at the ultimate cost?

The lake glistened in the dying light. Arthur had slept here for decades, but Merlin could not feel him. Not in the water, or the magic, or his memory. Arthur was beyond such things, untouchable in Merlin’s desperation to reach him. It burned through his veins, and he closed his eyes, feeling the rough dig of the stones slip beyond his senses. Whatever it was that lay beyond the veil of death was drawing him in, and Merlin gave himself to its tide. His heart gave a painful tug as the sheer dearth of Arthur in this spiritual place subsumed the hope he had cherished for so long. There was no reunion in their future. He was no closer to the fallen king than he had been with full breaths in his lungs. He had not earned that mercy.

In his last moments Merlin imagined that they were in another place, another time, another chance, with Arthur standing tall and Merlin uncloaked, relishing the life they had never had the chance to live.

A tear slipped from Merlin’s closed eye. By the time it reached the ground he was dead.

 

* * *

 

Merlin sat with his palms curled on either side of his neck, eyes closed and hunched in on himself in concentration. He felt his nails dig into the skin over his spine and forced the tension from his fingers, huffing an annoyed breath. There was magic rolling in his stomach, up through his lungs, seeking release, and he coaxed it back down with a determined hum.

Everything was noise. Beeps and taps and breaths and thumps, scratching, whooshing, clattering, cresting, in his ears and his brain, rolling over his skin and pricking over his scalp. He had never been so _aware_ in his life, open to every eddy of life and energy curling around him, yet as the devastating influx of information forced its way into his mind, it blinded him. There was too much, just too much, and Merlin could feel the heartbeat of the woman next door fluttering as it struggled to hold steady. He could sense the rage of a sparrow outside, trying to force a crow out of its territory. It was like every spark in this little corner of the world had recognised his power and called to him, joyous at their discovery even as he shrank away.

Quick footsteps sounded in the hallway, and he slit his eyes open, tense and thin-lipped, but a moment later they passed by and he sighed. There was little reason to worry about someone catching out his odd behaviour. Overpopulated and understaffed, the harried people of the hospital barely had time to check that their patients were still breathing. Now that he was awake and relatively coherent, he wasn’t even a high priority.

He grit his teeth as another wave of energy roiled up, filling his ears with angry buzzing. Four days of this, four days of leashing in his emotions, attempting to throw a net over this new power with careful meditation. Not that he knew anything about meditation. Mostly he just screwed his eyes shut, held his breath and hoped. So far he’d managed not to set anything on fire, so he was counting that as a success.

It wasn’t always so intense. Sometimes the storm of sound and thought slipped to the back of his mind and he could relax, floating just above it all with the instinctive ease he had known for centuries, but then a stretcher would clatter in the hall, startling him back to terrified awareness, or he would remember Mordred’s triumphant grin and Arthur’s shattered devastation and the energy would flood him to his fingertips and leave him gasping.

Merlin pursed his lips and determinedly drew one long breath through his teeth. Control was not beyond his reach… he just had to remember _how_.

A noise caught his attention and his eyes snapped forward. Beyond the door he could hear a faint _tap-tap… tap-tap… tap-tap_ , growing louder as skipping footsteps approached. Merlin winced, lifting his chin and dropping his shoulders. He took one long, slow breath through his nose.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and despite the strain of holding himself in check Merlin felt the edges of his lips curve into a smile.

“Wakey wakey Merlin baby!” chanted a high-pitched voice, and a round face framed by chocolate braids poked around the door.

“Hello, disaster,” he croaked. The girl cock her head to the side, looking concerned. He loudly cleared his throat of the gravel of disuse.

“Haven’t been talking enough. I think I broke my voice!”

The girl’s eyes widened and she bit anxiously on her thumbnail. A chuckle sounded behind her, and with it came a diminutive woman with brown hair carefully pinned back in a way that could not quite tame the frizz. Smiling ruefully, the woman stepped into the room, guiding the child with her.

“You may be wishing for that silence again pretty soon.”

Merlin gave her a small grin, tired but affectionate. “Hi Mum.”

Mrs Emerson walked over to the bed and pressed a hand to Merlin’s forehead.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Mum, I don’t have a fever,” he said with amusement, pulling her hand from his head and squeezing it fondly.

She pursed her lips. “Well, what am I supposed to do, put my palm on your chest and guess?”

“Or you could listen to the heart monitor?” said Merlin, gesturing at the happy beeping.

She shot the machine a look. “All these wires and twisty things. I miss the days when I could fix everything with a band-aid and caramel chocolate.”

Merlin pursed his lips in mock thought. “It’s one thing the doctors haven’t tried. Give it a go and maybe I’ll be good to go tonight.”

Mrs Emerson looked down, a rueful smile curling her lips even as she had trouble looking her battered son in the eyes. Merlin forced himself to smile, clenching one of his fists as he tried desperately to concentrate on both his magic and making his mother laugh.

The little girl grinned and clambered up onto the bed, oblivious to Merlin’s wince as she drove her elbow into a bruise.

“ _Sarah_ ,” chastised her mother, but Merlin waved a hand at her.

“Don’t worry, she’s fine.”

Merlin held his arm out and Sarah flopped onto his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder. Merlin held his breath as she jarred his… _everything_ … but shook his head as he heard his mother take a breath for a reprimand.

Mrs Emerson’s lips tightened, but she simply pinched her nose in exasperated affection.

Merlin brushed a kiss over Sarah’s hair.

“So how was school today, kidlet?”

“Max ate a crayon.”

“Did he?”

“Yep. He waited til Mr Reynolds was getting all angry at Ben for being naughty and then he stuffed a whole purple crayon in his mouth. I told him it was stupid ‘cause only babies do that but Bethan told him it would turn him into a grape like on Willy Wonka so he pulled the paper off and ate it.”

“And was Bethan right?”

Sarah leaned forward and turned to fix Merlin with an unimpressed glare.

“ _No_ ,” she said, emphasising the word so even her simple brother could understand. “He just threw up purple all over the desk and now I bet his poo’s purple too.”

Merlin shook his head regretfully. “Bethan needs to check her facts. I’m pretty sure the girl in Willy Wonka turned into a Blueberry. He should have eaten the blue one.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” chastised his mother. “Don’t you start. That poor boy’s got enough bad influences without your sister joining in.”

“I’m not a bad influence,” declared Sarah imperiously. “I got all my spelling words right and I didn’t even forget my hat!”

Merlin raised his hand to stroke through her hair. “You are a shining example of kindergarten, gorgeous girl.”

Sarah gave her mother a sharp nod and tucked her head into Merlin’s shoulder. Mrs Emerson raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Scanning over Merlin’s prone body, she noticed the tension running up his other arm, leading to the clenched fist he was attempting to hide under the covers.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asked, stepping quickly around the bed to take his elbow in her hands. Merlin quickly forced the muscles to relax, biting down hard on his cheek as his grip on the magic faltered for a moment. A cabinet by the door swayed for moment, and then steadied. He took a breath through his nose, and gave his mother a wan smile.

“Muscle spasm. Nothing serious. Doctor said it might happen a bit while my heart’s recovering.”

The muscles in Mrs Emerson’s jaw were taught. “No one mentioned that to me.”

“Mum, don’t worry, it’s normal. Heart just needs to remember how to run things.”

“Why didn’t the doctor…”

“Because you’re not the _patient_ , Mum,” bit out Merlin, tone sharpening as he felt a curl of tingling warmth gliding into the space behind his eyes. He shut his eyes, wrestling the power back down even as he tried to rein in his frustration. “There’s a bunch of side symptoms that come with heart attacks and I’m the one who needs to be on top of them and I am _managing it._ ” As he threw out the last few words he finally managed to force the magic down. He snapped his eyes open and looked at his mother, to find she was watching him with concern and not a little reproach.

Merlin blinked and sighed. “Christ, Mum. I’m sorry. I just… I’m stressed as hell but that’s still really not okay.”

Mrs Emerson pursed her lips, reaching out a hand to run through his hair.

“No, it’s not, but you are in a hospital bed.” She gave him a soft look, shaking her head at his embarrassed frown. “It’s not the first time you’ve snapped at me, Merlin. I remember you as a teenager, even if you choose not to.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes.

“I was a perfectly behaved young man.”

“You were haughty and opinionated and you crashed my car into the garage,” she countered, leaning forward to kiss him on the brow, “and I loved you anyway.”

Merlin pursed his lips, but simply pulled his sister in closer.

Mrs Emerson watched her children with tenderness. “I _know_ you’re stressed. That’s the whole point of us being here. You don’t need to pretend you’re okay. Honestly, you’re pretty terrible at that anyway.”

Sarah pulled back to look at him sternly and nodded. Merlin caught the little girl’s eye and smiled, a little delicately.

“Well, I can’t really argue with that, can I?” he said, his voice thick.

Sarah rolled her eyes and tucked herself in under his chin.

“Goose,” she said.

For a moment the room was silent but for the anxious buzz of the hospital outside. Merlin took a long, calming breath, kissing Sarah’s hair and letting his eyes slide shut.

“So,” began Mrs Emerson, sounding cautious, “I haven’t seen your young man around much since you woke up.”

Merlin’s jaw tightened just a fraction.

“He’s got a lot to deal with at the moment.”

“He was here most of the time you were asleep.”

The corner of Merlin’s mouth twitched. Asleep was such a kind word. Asleep means you know you’ll wake up.

“Merlin?” prompted Mrs Emerson. “Sweetheart, is everything okay with you two? Did something happen?”

He met her eyes, and his face was wan.

“I dunno,” he admitted, weary and adrift. “I don’t really know where we stand. He said he’d be here, for as long as I wanted him. I told him to leave.”

Mrs Emerson laced her long fingers through his hair.

“Can you tell me why?”

Merlin was quiet a long time. He absently rested his cheek against Sarah’s hair, breathing in the scent of home and family. Except they weren’t his family. Not his first one. They had raised him, shaped him, defined who he was. But they also hadn’t, because he was an ancient wizard chiselled from centuries of war and magic. It was a life they could never envisage, and he was a creature beyond explanation. Immortality meant never being tied to the transient, but his sister and his mother filled his heart with affection so potent he could feel his throat constrict ever so slightly as he looked at them.

“It’s been coming for a while,” he said, his voice small. “I think, maybe, this had to happen. We weren’t… we didn’t see things the same way. It couldn’t last. And with everything that’s happened…” Merlin’s eyes drifted to the ceiling and he sighed.

“It’s the most honest we’ve ever been with each other, and I don’t think we can survive it.”

Mrs Emerson stroked her fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Relationships can be so hard sometimes. Whatever you decide, you can always come to me. But, darling?” she said, softly turning his cheek to look at her, “don’t rush to this decision while you’re hurt and scared, okay? Work out what you really want, and choose it because it will make you happy, not because the world is terrifying and you need to get some control back.”

Merlin huffed out a small laugh.

“You think I’m going to go back to him and force him to be my safety net?”

“Or break up with him to prove you don’t need one.” Mrs Emerson smiled ruefully at him. “Either way, it’s not about whether you want _him_ , and that’s what has to matter. So get that ticker back in working order, try to get your head around what you want and who you want to be, and _then_ you can worry about the pretty boy with the revolting truck.”

Merlin chuckled a little. “Seems a bit cruel to him.”

“When someone really matters to us, we can find the patience.”

Sarah, apparently bored with this conversation, wriggled backward to cross her arms.  
“I don’t see why you need a boyfriend,” she announced, regally. “You could have married a princess, and then when the princess got kidnapped by a dragon you could fight it off and then I’d have a dragon!”

A sudden image of his bubbly little sister astride the great dragon of Camelot popped into his head and Merlin guffawed, sending a thump of pain through his chest.

“Ow,” he choked out, curling over. The cabinets around the room shuddered a little in place. He wrinkled his nose and they stopped.

“Merlin, are you okay?”

His mother had one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest, over his heart, and was looking fretfully into his eyes. Sarah had stilled, looking confused and scared. Her eyes were already starting to glisten.

Merlin pulled the little girl into a hug that jarred every one of his sore muscles. “Hey, don’t worry, Beautiful, I’m fine. Don’t you ever feel bad for making me laugh. It’s my favourite thing that you do.”

Sarah nodded and pulled back, narrowing her eyes.

“When are you gonna be better?”

“Really soon, kidlet, I promise.”

“Good. This place sucks.”

“Sarah!” chastised Mrs Emerson. “Speak nicely.”

“But I can’t even watch TV here because it’s all old people channels!” whined Sarah.

Mrs Emerson huffed. “Not every channel has to play Disney all the time.”

“No,” interjected Merlin. “She’s right. It’s totally old people channels. I watched lawn bowls for four hours today, and that was the most exciting thing on.”

Mrs Emerson pursed her lips in a way that told Merlin she was forcing herself not to roll her eyes for Sarah’s sake, and he grinned. Sarah started bouncing up and down in place, happily babbling about dragons again, just as a thickset man in blue scrubs stepped in.

Merlin rubbed Sarah’s back, only half listening as he watched the newcomer inspect his IV. He was well-muscled, with dirty blonde hair and a sharp nose. Merlin’s brow furrowed. There had been a few nurses tending to him, some talkative and some very rude, but none had been so silent, and there was a tension across the man’s shoulders that made something in Merlin sit up and growl.

“Is there something wrong with my IV?” asked Merlin, cutting across his sister’s monologue. Sarah pouted, but Merlin’s hand on her arm kept her silent.

“Checking the levels,” said the big man, not looking away from what he was doing.

“Which levels?” asked Merlin, trying to sound endearingly curious.

The strange nurse gave a small grunt. “Saline levels. Doctor wants to try some new vitamins to get you healthy quicker.”

“Really? No one mentioned it,” said Merlin, and he could hear the tension seeping into his voice.

The nurse paused. He turned to Merlin, face expressionless.

“I just did.”

Mrs Emerson took in her son’s wariness, and stepped over to where the nurse was standing.

“Of course,” she said, looking between the man and Merlin. “But my son hasn’t been told. He needs to understand the treatment before he can give consent.” Her spine was much straighter than it had been a moment before. On the bed, Sarah was sitting very still, her face uncertain.

The nurse lifted an eyebrow at Mrs Emerson, before dismissing her and producing a small syringe.

“Doctor’s orders,” he grunted.

Mrs Emerson’s eyes flicked to Merlin, taking in the trepidation on his face. He had freed both his hands from around his sister, and they hovered just above his lap as if he could not decide what to do with them, whether he needed to intervene. Mrs Emerson pursed her lips and looked back to the large nurse, stepping into his space.

“Be that as it may,” she said, and the nurse’s eyes snapped back to her, “the doctor has not discussed this treatment with my son, so it won’t happen.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Merlin’s lips twitch upward, though the tension did not leave him. “He’s not nutrient deficient, so a vitamin shot is hardly urgent. It can wait.” She spoke firmly, and arranged her features into an implacable don’t-try-me-I’m-a-goddamn-mother face.

The nurse took her in, unimpressed, and repeated “Doctor’s orders.”

Mrs Emerson blinked, the beginnings of outrage seeping in to her expression.

“Excuse me?”

“Mum, step away,” Merlin said in a low voice.

Mrs Emerson ignored him.

“You do not have permission to administer anything,” she carefully intoned. “Leave now.”

Merlin surreptitiously scooted Sarah off the bed, away from the others.

“It’s fine, Mum, just give him some space.”

Mrs Emerson glanced at her son, whose face had taken on an alien blankness that made the unease in her gut roil upwards. Looking back to the nurse, she saw a small sneer curling its way up his features.

“See?” said the nurse. “He’s fine. It’s just a shot.”

Mrs Emerson frowned down at the syringe.

“A shot of what exactly?”

“Mum…”

“No, Merlin. I’m not going to let you be bullied into taking treatment you don’t want.”

“Lady, it’s just a vitamin booster, no harm.”

“Step away from my son.”

Mrs Emerson’s voice dropped into a lower register, and she stepped into the space of the muscled intruder. All placation dropped from her face and voice. The nurse took her in, and his feigned courtesy sloughed away.

He lifted a meaty hand and shoved her sideways. Mrs Emerson squawked in surprise and Merlin started toward her. The nurse swivelled on him, syringe in hand, and he lurched back. He swung his arms wildly, catching the man’s wrist as he brought it down and sending the needle sideways to jab harmlessly into the mattress. The nurse scowled, letting go of the useless weapon and grabbing Merlins’ bicep in a crushing grip.

Merlin was yanked forward. His head snapped back and then forward, neck protesting at the quick movement, and he brought his fist up the crash into the nurse’s cheekbone. Pain lanced through his knuckles, but the man barely flinched. Behind the nurse a water jug shattered, sending shards shooting into the skin of his back. A couple of stray pieces dug into Merlin’s arm and side. The nurse winced in surprise and pain, and his look of detached purpose morphed into anger and disgust. The grip on Merlin’s arm tightened painfully, and a yell forced its way up his throat.

A thin, pale hand with unkempt nails raked across the nurse’s face, opening shallow drags of red down his forehead and across one eye. The nurse roared in anger and swung an elbow sideways, knocking Mrs Emerson across her collarbone and forcing her to let out a choked cry. He brought the arm forward again and slammed it into Merlin’s cheekbone, sending pain exploding across his vision. Merlin gasped for air that was suddenly beyond reach and felt an iron grip fasten around his throat. Deep in his chest, furious energy fizzed upward, desperate to be loosed, and he frantically pushed it down, days of fear and confusion driving his reflexes. Distantly, he could hear harsh screaming, high pitched, like the torn voice of a child. He dug sharp nails into the hands at his neck and his head began to pound angrily.

A screech sounded in the tiny room, and from the left of Merlin’s vision a blurry collection of stocky grey lines slammed into the nurse’s head and sent the man careening sideways. The flying chair followed him, crashing to the ground, and Merlin gasped, blinking first at the stunned assassin, then at his own livid mother, whose gasping pants grew a little heavier as the nurse slowly stood, turning to face her fully for the first time.

“SECURITY!” she shrieked. “PLEASE, SOMEONE! HELP!”

She threw the words over her shoulder, keeping her eyes glued to the furious intruder.

The nurse tilted his head to the side, eliciting a dramatic crack.

“You’re not part of the cycle, lady. You don’t have to die here.”

“What?” she snapped out, fury nearly smothering the fear in her words.

“The kid has to be stopped. He has too much fucking power. He was supposed to be leashed.”

Merlin gasped for breath. “M-Mor…”

The nurse’s left hand snapped out and caught him across the throat and he collapsed back.

“No words,” he spat, hatred and wariness rolling in his eyes, “ _warlock_.”

Mrs Emerson took advantage of his split focus, grabbing a discarded tray and swinging it sharply toward the nurse’s skull. The man blocked it with his forearm and reached forward to grab her by the hair, eyes spitting fury. He spun around, dragging her with him, and slammed her head into the wall. She slumped in his arms, feet collapsing beneath her, but still he held her by her hair, shifting her backwards, ready to bring her forward again.

In the centre of Merlin’s chest, the sun exploded.

Every glass surface in the room shattered outwards. The lights flared and cut out. The surprised nurse let go of Mrs Emerson’s hair just as he was lifted and flung into the wall, slamming face-first with a crunch. He fell backwards, landing on his rear as sharp wind whipped through the room. He made no cry, blinking dazedly, and when he finally stumbled to face the room again, Merlin could see that his nose had been flattened to his face. His angry eyes found Merlin again and he grunted, starting forward with balled fists.

Merlin felt his fury and fear give way to cold serenity. His face relaxed into blank condemnation, and he flung up a hand just as the first punch swung towards his jaw. The nurse rocketed backwards, slamming into the wall two feet off the ground, and hung there, pinned in place. Tendons stood out as he attempted to wrench himself forward, eyes spitting hatred, but he would not budge a hair.

Merlin took in the assailant, seething hatred radiating from every taught muscle, every sweat-slicked patch of skin, and he flicked his hand sharply sideways. The man’s head snapped towards the door, turning impossibly far over his shoulder, and the room was filled with a dirty crunch.

All tension left the man’s body. His eyes still pointed towards the door, open and staring, profoundly empty.

Merlin surveyed the broken marionette on the wall, and retracted his hand. The man flopped to the floor in a tumble of limbs. As he hit, gravity cause his head to overturn and it settled to rest just over his shoulder blade, a grotesque caricature of a human.

Merlin’s eyes drifted sideways to his mother, and he darted out of the bed. He knelt beside her, carefully shifting her hair to see her face. A line of blood ran from her hair down her forehead, staining her pale skin. He pressed two fingers to her throat, brows furrowed, and found her pulse steady and strong. With relief he breathed out through pursed lips, lifting his hand to hover over her head. He whispered soft healing words, feeling warmth flowing from his hand and eyes to her, and smiled.

A soft whimper broke his concentration, and he looked around. Pressed into a corner, knees clutched to her chest, was a small girl. Trembling. Merlin’s eyes found hers, and her breath hitched.

“It’s okay, Sarah,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “It’s okay now.”

She shook her head frantically, trying to keep her ragged sobs as quiet as possible.

Merlin inched forward on his knees.

“Mum’s going to be okay. He can’t hurt us anymore.”

Sarah shook her head again. Merlin manoeuvred himself in front of her, reaching forward. She choked, a high pitched squeak cut off in her throat, and scrambled sideways. Merlin froze, watching in confusion as Sarah stared at him, tears flowing down her cheeks. Her eyes were locked on him, on his eyes that had so recently flashed golden, and her features were twisted in a portrait of sheer terror.

“Sarah?” Merlin ventured, tentative, and she flinched.

“Y-you…” she stammered, voice frantic. “You… he… you…”

“He can’t hurt us anymore,” said Merlin, soft but insistent.

“You… he was… and then… he’s…”

“Sarah,” said Merlin. “I know it was scary, I’m sorry. But he was hurting Mum. I had to. I _had_ to k – ”

He broke off, the word sticking in his throat.

He tried again. “I had to ki – ”

His breath wheezed out, and he frowned, confused, as the muscles in his neck tensed. His heart felt suddenly heavy in his chest, and his fingers curled into claws.

Softly, so softly, he began again. “I ki – ”

He choked off, and sat back on his heels.  
_He had to die. He had to die._

_Murder is wrong. I could never._

_When people try to hurt the ones you love, they have to die._

_I’m not a monster. I would never._

_How else am I supposed to protect people? Protect Arthur?_

_I’m not a murderer. I’m normal. I’m good._

_Sometimes bad things are necessary._

_I’m a good person._

_I’ve done it before. So many times._

_I’ve never hurt anyone in my life._

_I’m a defender._

_I’m good._

_I would do anything._

_I would never._

_I will always._

_I did._

_I killed._

_I killed him._

Merlin gasped, dragging in great gulps of air. His eyes were locked onto his sister’s. She stared at him, face filled with terror.

He choked, throwing himself backward. His stomach clenched, and he cascaded sideways, vomiting a sea of bile and waste across the floor.

Frantically, he scrambled back until he hit the wall, pressing both hands across his mouth in abject horror. He dragged them down to clutch them tight against his chest.

“Oh God,” he choked. “I killed him.”

Waves of revulsion crashed through his chest, railing against the calm resolve still sitting somewhere near his heart, implacable and cold. It was alien. It was him. He wanted to cut it out.

“I killed him.”


	7. Chapter 7

Morgana hissed, tugging her arm to her side and scooting back from the oven. Her wrist screamed in protest. Biting her lip, she lifted her forearm to inspect an angry read strip of skin, just on the cusp of blistering. She sighed, rubbing the skin over her eyes with her uninjured hand.

“Good work,” she chided herself. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

She gathered the tea towel from the floor and much more carefully pulled the baking tray from the oven to sit on the stove. Blinking away tears, she swayed to the sink and shoved her burned arm under the tap. Biting cold clawed at her arm and she bit back a cry, other hand pulling at the hair on her scalp. Her eyelids slid shut and she stood very still, hunched over the sink, as the pain slowly ebbed to a dull throb.

With a deep sigh, she switched the tap off. The door of the cupboard over the fridge stood open, displaying a hodgepodge of pills, powders and creams. She made her way towards it, hand reaching toward a bottle of aloe vera, and as she moved she caught her elbow on the corner of a tall cereal box. It flopped to the ground with a lazy _whuff_ and hundreds of dry flakes and bits of fruit scattered across her floor.

The kitchen stood silent for a long, mocking moment.

Morgana’s head tipped backwards and she let out a mighty groan of frustration. Her arm throbbed and her head ached. With an exasperated sigh, she leaned back against the countertop in defeat.

Maybe she should just go back to bed.

A sharp knock sounded at her apartment door and she turned, scrubbing a hand down her face.

“Fuck _off_ ,” she implored under her breath, but went to unlock the door anyway.

Gwaine’s smarmy grin filled her vision, and Morgana decided that she may as well go to bed after all because this day was not going to turn into any less of a shitheap.

“Morning Morgs,” said Gwaine, cocking his head at her blank expression.

“It’s ten-thirty at night,” she countered.

Gwaine shrugged. “Been busy. Responsible sleep patterns are for people who don’t have whiny princesses to look after.”

Morgana frowned at him, and he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on. I’m _obviously_ talking about Arthur. Can I come in?”

Morgana blinked slowly, holding in a sigh, and stepped aside.

Gwaine grinned at her nonchalantly and strode in. He took in the piles of books and abandoned crockery with a carefully cheerful expression.

Morgana, too weary to care what he thought at that moment, walked past him to retrieve a dustpan and brush from under the sink, each of her footsteps through the kitchen letting out a crunch.

“Cereal mishap?” asked Gwaine, careful to stay out of the debris.

“Clumsy day,” answered Morgana, crouching down to scoop crumbling flakes into the tray.

“Want some help?”

“It’s fine.”

She kept her eyes on the mess, pointedly not saying anything as Gwaine watched her. Instead of surrendering to the awkwardness and leaving, however, he simply stood in the kitchen doorway. Eventually, as she scraped the last of the cereal into a bin, she gave in.

“What do you want, Gwaine?”

He tilted his head.

“I wanted to see how you were doing, that’s all.”

She looked past his shoulder, pursing her lips. “I’m fine, Gwaine. I don’t need a shoulder to cry on.” She crossed her arms, and muttered, “or a guard in case I snap.”

Gwaine frowned. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Really? ‘Cause that seems like the sensible thing to do.”

“Morgs, have you slept at all this past week?”

“Course I have. On and off.”

“You look like you’re barely upright.”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. God. I’m fine.”

Gwaine watched her coolly, and nodded. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” she insisted, and Gwaine didn’t argue. “I’m fine. I’m not gonna lose it. I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

“I know.”

“ _HOW_?” she demanded, glaring at him furiously. “How the fuck do you know that?”

Gwaine didn’t react to the outburst, except for a minute curl of his lips.

“I know you.”

Morgana pursed her lips in disgust. “Yeah, you do. So you should fucking know better.” She scratched a little at her skin, and flinched violently as she accidently hit the burn.

“Dammit,” she cursed, and Gwaine reached forward, halting before he could step too far into her space.

“What happened there?”

“Got careless with the baking tray. Fish fingers seemed like the easiest possible option for food. Fucking typical.”

Gwaine nodded, wordlessly making his way to the freezer and pulling out a bag of frozen peas. He wrapped them in a tea towel and stepped over to Morgana, carefully taking her elbow.

“Come on, Morgs,” he said softly, and she let herself be guided out to the dining table. Gwaine sat her down, laying her arm on the table, palm up. He pressed the cold pack over the burn.

“Hold this.”

Morgana complied, watching him through heavy eyelids. He ducked back into the kitchen and Morgana heard faint rustles and clicks until he emerged with a single plate piled high with fish fingers.

“Hate for them to go to waste,” he said with a hint of his usual grin.

Morgana huffed out a small laugh, reaching forward to take one of the rapidly cooling strips.

“Thanks,” she whispered, and began to munch. Gwaine picked up a fish finger and idly twirled it in front of his face.

Silence overtook the room, and Morgana felt a cold ball of anxiety begin to coalesce in her stomach.

“I really won’t, you know,” she said, rubbing a few crumbs between finger and thumb. “I know I look like hell but I’m not going crazy again. I won’t hurt anyone.”

“I told you, that’s not why I’m here.”  
“I don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. “It should be. You should be scared. Everyone should.”

“You’re scared enough for all of us.”

“I’m not scared. I won’t let it happen. I can’t.”

“And you won’t.”

She slammed her hand on the table. “Stop it. You don’t know that. I remember what I was. That’s still there.” She waved a hand around her hair.

“I know.”

“I was dangerous. I was fucking cruel.”

“I know.”

“Then why the fuck aren’t you taking this seriously?”

“Morgana,” began Gwaine, raising his eyebrows at her, “Remember that time you tortured me to death?”

Morgana froze. Her eyes widened and the fish finger in her hand crumbled as her grip tightened. She took a long breath, looking for words, but could find none.

Gwaine regarded her without hostility.

“I was never your target, not like Merlin and Arthur, but that almost made it worse. I was nothing to you. Just connected enough to be useful.” He shrugged, but the tension across his shoulders belied his calm expression.

“I… I…” stammered Morgana.

“I think you enjoyed it too,” he continued. “I know I was loud. Percival heard me.”

“Fuck… Jesus,” whispered Morgana.

“I have more reason than most to take this seriously. Don’t for one second think that I’m not,” said Gwaine. “But you are more than you were then. It’s not that simple.”

“I remember,” she whispered. “I remember how good it felt. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Lots of things,” said Gwaine. “You were hurt bad, but that never excused what you became. When you started off you were scared and protective and retaliating against a nasty situation. Somehow you went from that to outright sadism and hatred. I never really got why.”

Morgana buried her face in her hands.  
“I don’t know. I still don’t… it felt right.”

“How does it feel now?”

“Justified,” she said, giggling breathlessly. “Logical. But also disgusting, like my stomach’s trying to claw out of my skin.”

“Sounds like you’ve got some perspective there.”

She shook her head. “I still feel the way I felt then. So angry, and sick.”

“What do you want to do about it?”

“Make the world scream,” she bit out, and her nails dug into her cheeks. “I want to cut it out. All of it.”

“That’s actually not unique. Plenty of people have emotion they want to get rid of. You’re not as alone as you think.”

“Do plenty of people remember murdering the people they love?”

“No, but you remember how it happened. You were caught up in everything at the time, but now you can look at it in the past and think about what it means.”

Gwaine folded his hands on the table in front of him, looking her in the eyes. “You’re feeling guilty. You should. You should be ashamed. That’ll help you keep that shit in perspective. When you catch yourself wanting to lash out, remember how you feel right now.”

“I’m not good,” she said.

“No one’s naturally good. Not fully at least. We all have to work at it.” He scrunched up his nose in thought. “Except maybe Merlin, but fuck him. Take away the massive gay love affair and he’s pretty much warlock Jesus. My point is that being good and living happily takes work, and you’ve got more obstacles than you did a month ago. But you’ve also experienced just how easily it can go wrong, and you’ve seen the consequences. Guard yourself. Remind yourself why it’s worth fighting. From this point on, you get to choose who you are.”

“Are you that confident I won’t choose wrong?”

“You’ve been so scared you’ll hurt someone that you’ve locked yourself in your apartment for days with practically no sleep, eating England’s shittiest interpretation of food. I know what you are.”

She looked at him in wonder, shaking her head.

“How can you forgive me? You, of all people?”

He smiled. “You’ve only just remembered, but I’ve had about a thousand years to come to terms with what happened. For a lot of that time, you’ve been there. You and Arthur are a package deal. Sure, there were a few times I wanted to bludgeon you with a stick in the early days, but I got over it pretty quick. You were just a normal girl.”

Morgana ran her fingers through her hair. “I think Arthur wants the girl he grew up with back. Someone who remembers, but was never twisted like I was.”

“Man, fuck that chick,” said Gwaine, rolling his eyes. “I never met her. You were already _way_ off the deep end when I came to Camelot. But the woman you are now is a kickarse lawyer with half of England’s executives in love with her. And when she remembered what she’d done, she risked everything to get her family back. That was your first big choice. The first important moment since you got all that anger and confusion back, and your instinct was to protect.”

“What does that mean?”

Gwaine sat back, crossing his arms at quirking an eyebrow at her.

“It means you got hate and love in you, and now you know which one is stronger.”

Morgana ran a delicate finger down the side of her nose, brushing away tears. Gwaine watched her, maintaining the silence as she gathered herself. Eventually she turned fond eyes on him, for the first time free of self-recrimination.

“I’m glad they had you,” she said, affectionately. “Back in Camelot while I was busy being a scheming hellbitch. They needed a friend like you.”

Gwaine shook his head ruefully. “I was pretty oblivious back then. I wanted to help but the people who really needed me never said. They didn’t feel like they could be honest, and even though I always knew there was something big going on, I never figured it out because I was a dull, unobservant dick.” A little vitriol entered his words at the end, and he looked away. “I’m trying to make up for that now.”

Morgana pursed her lips and sighed, picking up a fish finger. A tiny drop of grease caught the light, reflecting back into her eyes.

“What a fucking mess,” she said, and shoved the whole thing in her mouth with a wet _crunch-squelch_.

Gwaine looked up in surprise, and his face split into a massive grin. He laughed, and Morgana joined in despite herself, crumbs and tiny bits of grease flicking out of her mouth as she failed to hold in her guffaws. She wiped at her mouth with a hand and struggled to swallow the mass of masticated fish.

Their laughter was interrupted by a harsh ringing from the kitchen. Morgana frowned, looking at Gwaine, and he waved her away as he helped himself to another fish finger. She shook her head with a smile and went to retrieve her phone from the bench.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Morgana,” said Arthur, voice strained. “Hospital, now. Merlin’s been attacked.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Arthur reached the hospital Morgana and Gwaine were already pitching themselves out of Morgana’s dusty car.

“Where is he?” huffed Morgana.

“Second floor. His room was trashed,” answered Arthur, shoving his way through the doors. The three of them flashed through the foyer and up the stairs.

“Is it Morgause?” asked Gwaine, keeping his voice low.

“Don’t know. One of her recruits probably.”

They jogged down the corridor, dodging past harried staff with drawn faces. As they rounded a corner they nearly mowed down a serious looking policewoman with a notebook.

“Not this way,” she snapped. “This area is off limits to anyone who isn’t staff.”

“I’m here for Merlin,” huffed Arthur. “The hospital said he was in trouble. I’m his b – ”

He stumbled on the word, and Morgana rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“He’s his boyfriend. We’re his friends. We need to see that he’s alright.”

The woman looked at them calmly. “Your name?”

“Arthur Prescott.”

She frowned, and nodded.

“Good. Follow me.”

She turned on her heel and marched down the corridor, nodding to another officer as she went.

“Mr Emerson will make a complete physical recovery. However, he is currently in shock, as is his sister, and their mother is still unconscious.”

“His sister?” Arthur faltered, and Morgana clapped a hand to her mouth. “ _Sarah’s_ here?”

The woman frowned again.

“The hospital should have told you. His family was visiting when the assailant entered the room.”

“Mrs Emerson’s unconscious?”

“She suffered a blow to the head during the altercation. The doctors are running tests now.”

“How long has she been unconscious?” asked Gwaine.

“Twenty-five minutes, give or take.”

“Shit,” he breathed.

“Yes,” she agreed. “We tried to talk to Mr and Miss Emerson before we arrived, but neither of them are speaking. Perhaps you could help us to understand what happened.”

“What do you know?”

“A large man dressed as a nurse entered the room with a syringe. We haven’t analysed the contents yet but it was buried in the mattress.”

“Poison,” bit out Arthur.  
“Perhaps,” acknowledged the police officer. “It appears that after the injection failed the man attempted a physical assault. Mrs Emerson was knocked unconscious in the struggle, and somehow the intruder was killed. His injuries suggest he was taken down by someone very strong, but no one else has been implicated.”

Arthur frowned.

“There was someone else?”

“Maybe. It could be that your friend had an adrenaline rush when his mother was hurt.”

Gwaine cut in. “How come no one else saw? Someone must have heard it.”

“It appears there were a number of disturbances in the hospital. Malfunctioning equipment, flickering lights, that sort of thing. It’s not the first time it’s happened. The hospital’s been investigating failures for a few weeks.”

The three following her were silent, coming up on a plain door.

“Mr Emrys is through here. If you can, please try to get him to talk to us. We need to understand what happened.”

Morgana glanced at the door, then back to the woman.

“What about Sarah? Where’s she?”

The woman nodded to the opposite door. “We wouldn’t usually leave her alone, but she’s not reacting well to adults. We thought she might calm down with some space.”

Morgana nodded decisively. “Arthur, go check on Sarah. I’ll talk to Merlin. Gwaine, can you go find out how Mrs Emerson is doing?”

“What?” objected Arthur. “No, I should…”

“Arthur,” cut in Morgana. “I need you to trust me right now.”

His mouth opened and closed in confused outrage.

“Please,” she said, looking at him intently. “I can help him more than you this time, and Sarah needs someone she trusts.”

Arthur closed his mouth, still frustrated, but he nodded acceptance. Gwaine simply pursed his lips and turned to stalk down the corridor to reception.

The policewoman cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t object. With a deep breath, Arthur squared his shoulders and opened Sarah’s door.

The room was quiet, and he carefully shut the door, trying not to startle the small figure in the corner.

“Sarah?” he called, and the girl sniffled.

“Sarah, it’s me. It’s Arthur.”

She didn’t look up.

Arthur sighed, looking around the room. He went to pull the sheet off the hospital bed and cautiously walked over to where she huddled, deliberately staying two steps back.

“I’ve got a blanket for you, Sarah. You need to stay warm.” He crouched down, and carefully shuffled forward.

“Can you look at me?”

Sarah tucked her head further between her knees. Arthur ran a tongue over his lower lip.

“I’m so sorry, Sarah. I know what happened.”

She shifted slightly, and Arthur saw a soft blue eye blink through her curtain of hair.

“Merlin stopped the man, didn’t he?” asked Arthur

Her shoulders hunched further. He inched a little further forward.

“You know he was trying to keep you and your mum safe?”

One of her hands twitched. Carefully, he leaned forward to drape the sheet over her shoulders, and then sat back against the wall beside her.

The room was bleached white by the harsh light overhead. Busy sounds of traffic drifted in from the window.

“I was scared too, when I first saw what he could do,” he confided, keeping his voice soft. “I’d known him for so long, and he never told me. Man, the _things_ he could do… I was scared. He can do things that aren’t supposed to be possible, and sometimes he did them to hurt people.”

Sarah choked, and Arthur felt her lean in towards him ever so slightly.

“But the thing is,” he continued, “the world is full of crazy, impossible things. I knew about them, growing up. Monsters and witches and evil things that wanted to hurt me. And I always thought, with all this _power_ in the world, all this magic, why did it all have to be dark? Why couldn’t there be a hero? Or an angel? Someone to protect people like me? Someone powerful enough to face the monsters, and kind enough that they would never leave me behind?”

He reached out a tentative hand to brush against her shoulder.

“That’s what Merlin is. When everything comes crashing towards you and you don’t know how you could possibly survive, he finds a way. He saves you. Whatever it takes, he always saves you. It’s who he is.”

Arthur’s eyes turned to the ceiling and he felt his throat tighten just a little.

“He’s the bravest person I’ve ever met, and he loves so hard that it nearly shatters him. He’s good. When everything else seems wrong and you can’t even feel your way forward, you can still hold on to that. He’s good.”

Sarah slowly leaned into his side, taking a shuddering breath.

“He broke…” she whispered. “That man’s… there was a crunch…”

Arthur nodded, draping a hand over her.

“Merlin can do scary things. Terrifying things. But he never does them if he doesn’t have to.” He lifted a hand to gently stroke through her hair.

“That man was going to kill him,” he continued. Sarah flinched and he held her tight. “He had to stop him.”

“The big man… he threw mum… she didn’t wake up.”

“She’s going to be okay,” Arthur assured her. “I promise you.”

“Merlin did something to her… said some funny words.”

Arthur smiled slightly, gently drawing back her hair.

“He was healing her. That’s what he does.”

Carefully, he leaned away, guiding her shoulders to face him.

“Sarah, look at me, please.”

She did. She wasn’t crying anymore, but her eyes were red and weary.

“Merlin protects people. He stopped that man when he hurt your mum, and then he made sure she’d be okay. He saved her, and he saved you. The same way he saves everyone.”

He pushed her hair behind her ears.

“He’d never hurt you.”

Sarah watched him for a long moment, lip trembling ever so slightly. Coming to a decision, she flung herself into his lap and threw her arms around his neck. He caught her round the waist and held her close.

“Is Merlin gonna be okay?” she asked in a small voice.

Arthur fought not to clench his fists.

“He’s scared and confused, but he’s tough. Once he knows that you and your mum are okay he’ll get better.”

“He threw up,” she whispered. “He got this funny look on his face and then he threw up.”

Arthur cringed. He looked towards the door.

“Morgana’s taking care of him,” he said, forcing himself not to move. “She gets him, I think. Better than I do right now.” He absently stroked Sarah’s back and the two of them fell into silence.

In the room across the hall, Morgana ran a frustrated hand through her hair.

“Please, Merlin, just look at me.”

Merlin continued to stare blankly at his hands, crossed over his lap. He sat against the head of his bed, skin almost as pale as the sheets except for the deep purple bruising splashed over his cheeks and neck.

Morgana drew in a long breath.

“Dammit, Merlin, I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

Merlin blew out a short breath through his nose.

Morgana gave him an indignant look. “Of course I can help. I’m the only one who knows what you’re going through.”

“Go away, Morgana,” said Merlin quietly. His voice was hoarse.

“Not until you’ve heard me out, you self flagellating twat.”

Merlin cut angry eyes at her. “I thought you weren’t talking to any of us.”

“I wasn’t. Now you need me.”

“What, not getting murder pangs anymore?”

“I stayed away because I was ashamed of what I remembered and scared about being a monster. Sound familiar?”

He glared at her, and she scowled.

“I’m Morgana Prescott. I’m a lawyer and a bitch but you know what? I don’t hurt people. I follow the law. I try to make the people I love as happy as possible. Lady Morgana of Camelot murdered her brother, tortured his allies and fucked up half the countryside with unnecessary wars. Her limits are not my limits. But she was me. I was her. I don’t know, I still _am_ her, kind of. And every time I think about what I did then the part of me that grew up here freaks the fuck out and I want to throw up or scratch my skin off or something. And then I remember something else I did that was even worse and there’s a big part of me that thinks it’s normal. Yargh!”

She shuddered, flexing her fingers in disgust.

“And that’s not even mentioning all the other personalities that are crammed into my head. Sometimes I’ll have a reaction to something and only catch how weird it was after. Like, I’m pretty sure a few of my old personalities were racist, because my pizza guy has a Scottish accent and I nearly spat at him.”

Merlin snorted, and she rubbed a hand across her face. “I know. I don’t even remember which life that one came from, they’re all kind of overlapped. The thing is, for most of those I was raised by nice people, usually beside Arthur, so there aren’t many huge conflicts. But Camelot’s Morgana goes against everything that today Morgana stands for.”

“I don’t do violence,” whispered Merlin. “But I snapped that man’s neck and I felt justified. That’s who I used to be.”

Morgana nodded. “His limits are not your limits.”

“He’s a monster.”

“He protected a lot of people.”

“He’s a necessary monster.”

Morgana paused, and nodded again. “Are you more upset that you killed that guy, or that it felt right?”

Merlin closed his eyes, and shrugged. “I don’t want to be him.”

“Then don’t,” said Morgana simply. Merlin’s eyes shot open and he looked at her incredulously. Morgana smiled. “I mean it. Just because you’ve got those memories back doesn’t mean you have to step back into that role. Your _destiny_ or whatever rhetoric the dragon used to strongarm you into the magical defence force is done. You did what you could, and then you died. Game over, time to pick a new character.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” said Merlin with a small smile.

“Probably not, but fuck it. We’re never going to reconcile these completely different people in our heads. I can’t be a killer megalomaniac _and_ a loving sister and you can’t be a weapon against all darkness and an innocent literary critic. But we can choose who we want to be, and maybe if we try hard enough and keep pretending then eventually it’ll be true.”

“People don’t change like that.”

“My mind… my personality… it’s broken into shards. I want power. I want to hurt people. But I also want to be trusted, and I want _that_ way more.” She smiled wistfully. “I want my family back. So that’s the bit I’m going to listen to. I figure I treat the rest like that voice in the back of your head that shows up whenever you look down from a high balcony and tells you to jump. It’s always going to be there, but it’s not stronger than me. I do have a fucking moral compass and even if it doesn’t always fit right I am going to stick to it because I am Morgana fucking Prescott and I am better than the person I used to be.”

Merlin’s took in the tense line of her jaw and tilted his head. “When did you get all this conviction?”

“I burned myself on the oven today because I’d spent hundreds of hours wallowing in shame and doubt and confusion, and I’m _done_. There may be no goddamn hope for me, but the only way I’m going to know is if I run right at this shitty situation and try to _make_ _it work_.”

Merlin laughed a little, his eyes fond. “Do you remember that time you were Arthur’s daughter? You decided you were going to plant daisies in every forest in the world. You even packed yourself a lunch. You must have been about five. When one of the boys told you that you couldn’t do it, you sat on him until me agreed to help.” He sighed. “It’s nice to see some things don’t change.”

“If something had to be consistent in my character, I’m glad it was determination. Or stubbornness, I guess. It might actually get me though this.” Morgana shuffled forward until she could feel Merlin’s slightly shaky breaths on her face.

“It’s never going to be easy for us,” she continued. “We’re fucked up and there’s not a single therapist we can ask for help. But hey, we’re magic. We’re used to doing impossible shit.”

She held out her hand. “What do you say? Do we make a no-more-murder pact?”

Merlin laughed and took her hand. “I’ll keep an eye on us if you will.”

“That’s the idea.”

He cocked his head to the side.

“Do you really think I won’t have to kill again?”

She shrugged. “Maybe one day, but for now we can have some peace. If another fight comes, it comes, and we’ll deal with it then. I’m not going to let that possibility screw up the chance I have here.”

“You want me to be different.”

“I want you to be _happy_ , you arse,” she shot. “Whatever that means. From what I’ve seen, right now that means leaving the war mentality behind.”

“You think I can just pick and choose like that?”

“Maybe. Kindness and violence are both really strong instincts in you. Focus on the kind. Fake it til you make it.”

His expression was thoughtful, and she narrowed her eyes. “You’re not obligated to be that person anymore. Not for Arthur’s sake, not for mine, not for anyone. I’m happy we got your memories back, but they’re just memories. You don’t have to fill those shoes again.”

“They’re all expecting me to. Not just the… killing stuff.”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Fuck them. You’ve got enough to deal with without pretending you haven’t changed. Find out who you are. They’ll catch up eventually.”

Merlin shook his head at her, but smiled. “How the fuck are you this balanced?”

She quirked a grin at him. “Something Gwaine said. I’ve gone off the deep end before. I know how it feels and what pushed me over the edge. In hindsight, I can almost trace which decisions did the most damage. It’s _so_ weird having homicidal rage battling with rationality. It’s like in my head there’s an angry guy with a knife screaming at a judgemental librarian while she taps her foot.”

Merlin snorted and she shrugged.

“I never claimed to be sane. Just very, very smart.”

He nodded, and she pulled him into a hug.

“We’re going to be fine,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” he said, and a thousand years of fatigue weighed down his words.

She held him for a long moment, and then drew back.

“We should probably check on your sister. Arthur’s with her.”

Merlin tensed, and a mild sort of panic entered his eyes. “She saw me kill him. She’s scared of me.”

Morgana frowned. “She might be, but you have to see her sooner or later. The longer you leave it the worse it’ll be.”

Merlin held her gaze for a long time and then nodded. “Okay, but you should go first so she doesn’t freak out.” He carefully extricated himself from the bed, holding in a wince as his bruises protested.

Morgana nodded, walking to the door. She ducked her head out, then gestured at him to wait.

“He’s not ready to give a statement yet,” she called in a firm voice, and Merlin silently thanked her for running interference with the cop. “He’s able to talk a little but he’s still in shock. He’ll talk to you after he sees that his family is okay.”

“Of course,” answered a feminine voice, and to her credit the officer only sounded a little frustrated. “Mr Prescott is still with Miss Emerson.”  
“Thank you,” answered Morgana. She crossed the hall and knocked on the door.

“Arthur, is it alright if I come in?” she called softly. There was a muffled response that apparently Morgana could interpret better than Merlin and she slipped inside. A moment later, she stuck her head back out and waved Merlin in.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded to himself, narrowed his eyes and marched to the door, refusing to look anywhere but straight ahead.

Inside the room, Morgana had perched herself on the bed facing the back corner, where Merlin could see a long pair of legs extending out from the wall. The torso attached to them was hidden behind a bundle of blankets that was sniffling and shifting. Arthur’s face peaked over Sarah’s shoulder, and his expression seemed caught somewhere between panic and desperation.

Merlin tore his gaze from Arthur, looking instead at the weeping form clinging to him.

“Sarah?” he ventured, and the bundle stiffened. She twisted to look over her shoulder, and Merlin saw that her face was red and streaked with tears. He lowered himself to his knees and shuffled forward.

“Oh, I am so sorry, beautiful girl,” he whispered.

She looked back at Arthur, and he nodded at her. She lifted herself off his lap and made her way to stand in front of Merlin, looking at him thoughtfully. After a moment, she drew herself up imperiously.

“Arthur told me your secret,” she said, sounding important. Merlin glanced at Arthur and back. Sarah leaned in right next to his ear. “You’re a superhero.” Merlin jerked his head back to look at her.

“What?” he sputtered. “I’m not… what?”

“You have magic powers and you save people, duh,” she said, jarringly flippant.

“Sarah, I’m not… I’m not anything that special. I just have a few… weird things I can do.”

“Yeah, like Spiderman. Only his stuff is way cooler ‘cause he can jump off buildings.”

“She’s right, you know,” chimed in Morgana. “Spiderman is cooler.”

“Not helping, Morgana,” hissed Arthur.

“I disagree,” she shot back.

“Aren’t…” whispered Merlin, “aren’t you scared of me?”

Sarah stopped to think about it. She took a whole two seconds.

“No,” she said decisively.

Merlin gaped at her. He fell back onto his heels, mouth opening and closing as he tried to digest this.

“Besides, I already knew that magic was real. There was this boy at school, and he turned into a tree, then he turned into water, and then he turned into sharks.”

Merlin blinked, opening his mouth only to realise there was not a single reply hiding in there. He closed it.

“Kids,” said Morgana, shaking her head incredulously. “Never know when they’re going to break or bounce back.”

Sarah sniffed, grabbing one of her braids. “Can we go home yet? I don’t like it here.”

Merlin huffed out a laugh, feeling his eyes grow hot.

“Me neither. God, this place is awful.”

“Is Mum gonna take us home?”

Merlin looked at Morgana beseechingly.

“She’s still sleeping,” she said softly. “They’re just making sure she’s okay.”

“Of course she is,” said Sarah in annoyance. “Merlin fixed her.”

Merlin’s looked askance and Sarah crossed her arms.

“Arthur told me. You magicked her all better so she’s fine and now I want to go home.”

“She… she will be fine,” said Merlin. “But she needs to rest for a bit before we leave.”

“But I want to go home _now_ ,” she implored, grabbing one of her braids and yanking. “It’s smelly and cold and there are bad people and police everywhere and they want me to say things and _I just want to go home_.”

At those last words her voice hitched up into a shriek and her shoulders shook. Merlin grabbed her by the arms, pulling her forward and she collapsed against him.

“I know. I know, beautiful. I’m so sorry,” he murmured, tucking her face into his neck. She clutched at him, grinding her nose into his bruised throat.

“She’s exhausted,” said Morgana sympathetically.

“Yeah,” agreed Merlin. “You’re okay, disaster,” he crooned. “I promise.”

Sarah wailed into his neck, and he hushed her gently. Arthur gingerly got up from the floor and made his way to sit by Morgana. She offered him a tentative smile and he sighed, looking towards the two on the floor.

“You could have stopped it,” he said, voice so low that only Morgana could hear. She gave him a sideways look.

“After Morgause brought your memories back, you could have stopped her taking Merlin.”

She held her breath for a moment, then let it out, exhausted.

“Yeah,” she said, equally quiet. “Probably.”

“Merlin still wouldn’t remember, but he’d be happy.”

“Probably.”

“You didn’t have to do this to him.”

She stared straight ahead.

“I wanted him back.”

“If you’d made a mistake he’d be worse than dead. She would’ve used him to reshape the world.”

“I had to believe I could save him.”

“But you weren’t sure.”

“No.”

Arthur watched her, carefully keeping the censure out of his face.

“He had a life. He was happy.”

“It would have killed you,” she said, looking a little lost in her own words. “Losing him, again and again, having to rebuilt that relationship. Even without the romance. I saw what that disconnect did to you, to both of you. A few more deaths, and you’d have gone mad.”

“I would cope. He’d be free of all this.”

“Sure, but… isn’t he better this way? Knowing what he is, who you are. Really knowing. Isn’t that better?”

Arthur swallowed. “He nearly broke today. He looks half ready to cut his own throat.”

She shook her head. “He’s just adjusting. He’ll come out of it.”

“He always does,” agreed Arthur, “because he’s a resilient little shit who’s suffered more than anyone should have to. He’d finally left that all behind.”

“Along with you,” she insisted. “And me, and everything that mattered to him. If the Merlin we knew had had the choice…”

“He would have done whatever it took to protect me, no matter how it hurt him,” cut in Arthur. “But there was a different Merlin here, and he didn’t choose to die so the old Merlin could live.”

“He’s not dead,” objected Morgana. “He’s there, now there’s just… more of him.”

“Are you sure?” asked Arthur. He looked across at Merlin, who was still murmuring to his crying sister. “My boyfriend woke up in that cell, and he was terrified. Now there’s a new man over there with his mind at war with itself, and he can barely look at me.”

“I had to do it,” said Morgana, fists clenching until her knuckles turned white. “It’s better this way. I knew I could bring him back. I thought… there were so many voices telling me what to do… and I thought… a good person would save him. A good person would bring him back. I did save him. He’ll be better now.”

Arthur sighed, putting an arm around her shoulders and dragging her in close. “ I hope so.”

On the floor, caught up in his own swirl of emotion, Merlin let Sarah sob into the skin of his neck.

“I love you, beautiful girl,” he whispered. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He kept chanting, rocking back and forth ever so slightly, and felt himself relax.

This was familiar. This he knew. Sarah smelled like home, and he’d been easing her through nightmares and tantrums since she was a tiny squalling bundle who looked like ET.

He smiled into her hair. She was so small, but she’d be tall one day. Like her mother, like him. She was demanding and sweet, charismatic as hell – in a few years she’d give Morgana a run for her money. And then…

And then she’d keep moving. She’d grow, and shift, and continue… until she didn’t. Until time ate at her bones and her mind, until her energy drained out through folded skin and clouded eyes, until she passed on, because _of course_ she would. That was how it went. That was what it meant to be human.

Merlin felt ice sliding slowly over his spine. His hands tightened in her shirt.

_Sarah is mortal._

_I know that._

_I’ve always known that._

His brows drew together and he shook his head minutely.

_This isn’t new. What the fuck, Merlin? She’ll grow up and live and die, same as everyone. Hell, she’ll be around longer than me._

_But she won’t._

His breath caught slightly in his chest, and for a moment he was glad that Sarah’s hitching sobs hid the sound.

_I am immortal. I come back, again and again. I’ve had family before. I can handle this._

_But I’m not supposed to outlive her._

The child in his arms was so fragile, so vulnerable. She loved with all her soul, and so did he, because that’s how they were raised. His family was close, their love for each other eclipsed all else and his whole life – his mind, his _sanity_ – were built on that. _He_ was built on that.

Fuck, he _knew better_. Merlin-the-immortal protected himself from the fleeting, the impermanent, the sunflowers that worked their roots into your soul while they bloomed and then morphed into iron and lead as they withered, dragging at you, tearing and shredding. Always there, like a song running through your head, over and over, a loop of grief and longing that slowly convinced you to lie down and never get back up. _He knew better_.

But he forgot. For the first time since Camelot, he let himself truly live in the world. He let it in his brain, his breath, his blood. He let this matter more than anything.

Merlin would tear the world down for his sister, but the world would wear her away to nothing, uncaring for magic and miracles.

He _knew_ , he had _known_ that she wouldn’t live forever. A long time was enough. But suddenly eternity unfolded before him, and he could feel himself stretching into that gaping chasm with no end in sight, and the idea of ‘forever’ shifted in his head. It was no longer a lifetime. It was dozens of lifetimes, hundreds, stacked over one another, sending him back into the world again and again. And he would leave her behind, his fiery sister, in this one tiny life in the corner of time, his little baby Sarah, who was supposed to outlast him. She was meant to be _there_ , always.

He scrambled for the detachment he used to know, his shield against the people who would love him to death. He scrambled, and fumbled, and he found nothing. He was not that person now.

Merlin clutched his tiny, beautiful sister, eyes wide and flooded with tears that he hid in her hair. Around him the world distorted, invisible hands reaching to drag her into death and rot and dust, and in his mind’s eye he saw a single white tightrope disappearing into oblivion, his feet chained to the thin light so that even falling would not be an escape.

Sarah wept herself to sleep, and beneath her Merlin trembled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because we all needed more psychological trauma.
> 
> We're on the home stretch now, and there are a lot of problems with no easy answers. Do you think Morgana was right? I'm honestly curious. It was always the plan to bring Merlin back for the sake of the story but if you had to make that choice for someone you knew, would you do it?
> 
> I'd love to hear your take on that or any of the emotional quandaries the crew are facing. None of this shit is meant to be easy or cut-and-dry.

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to put the entire manuscript of this up at once in a single chapter, but it's already at 35K and it's still not finished. I thought that it would be a giant pain to read in that format. So I've broken it up and chapters will be posted as they're edited.
> 
> Until next time.
> 
> \- J


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